Memories of a Death Eater
by AlienAgainstTheWorld
Summary: Bella's thoughts about the one she loves most. For one may seem like something, but may be someone else altogether. Chapters out of sequence. Bellatrix Lestrange x Sirius Black
1. Introduction to an Insane Mind

Chapter 1

Introduction to an insane mind

Night shone its poisonous wrath through the dark veil of hair. Dark, hollow eyes raised to meet the twinkling fury that rose above her. It seemed silent, but she knew, she knew, that it was time, that He was truly furious now, that he might even be angry enough to kill her and her accomplice. All her sacrificed for Him had been in vain, all those years spent rotting away in that little hell hole had been nothing but a waste of time, she would have been better off relaxing with Lucius in his enormous manor, resting on a chaise lounge while sipping a mo –

A sound from behind. She whirled about, paranoid eyes searching through the darkness for someone who had come to take her away, someone who would take her without a single thought, a single care for her, someone who probably owed her his life ten times over, but was too damn much of a coward to see that it _wasn't _her fault, that she had been set up, time and again, that this was just a ruse by some people who wanted her position at His side….

The darkness parted to reveal a pale face in a long dark robe. She felt her breath escape in a shaky gasp. She couldn't fight this person. She could not risk hurting this person. Ever.

The pale, lipsticked mouth opened, trembling a little, for a single word to escape. "Come."

And she obeyed. There was nothing else for her to do, if she did not want this person to get hurt. He had chosen well. He always knew. It was for His service that she had dedicated her life to hell. And now He was about to kill her.

The darkness seemed to open up in front of her. She knew that she was going mad, but somehow it made her upcoming death much easier. After all, she would at least have the solace of not knowing the full extent of the crimes she had committed, the monster she had become. There would be some sort of a relief, an escape from the horrible truth that had led her to insanity.

Up ahead, a building blossomed from the darkness. Its pale marble walls seemed to glow amidst the gloom, and the pale, albino peacocks who strutted its walls only highlighted that fact. The figure in the black robe led her inside, through the dark corridors lit by nothing save an occasional flickering lamp, casting a dull light on the formerly elegant walls. This was something else she would be glad to escape – the perennial darkness. Hopefully, wherever she was going, there would a small amount of light.

There was nobody to be seen in the corridors, although she knew that they were all watching. They were hidden back in the darkness that they loved so much, unwilling to reveal themselves and be shown the wrong end of her wand. She was powerful, of course. Not as powerful as Him, but much more than any of the ones that scuttled like rats around this ancient home of one of the finest families. They were glorying in her downfall, she knew, gleefully enjoying the humiliation which she, far superior to any of them, had been put through, but she could not bring herself to care. Nothing else mattered now, now that she had failed. She had failed to protect him whom she loved most, she had failed to protect her very own flesh and blood from being harmed, she had failed to protect her beliefs from being perverted by the vile thing she called Master, and now, if she did not follow the commands given to her, she would fail to protect one of the only two people who mattered anymore.

The corridors opened out into a huge room, formerly filled with portraits and rare exhibitions of age-old and precious art, but now converted into a ritual room. A large, crude circle was drawn in the center, and a man, his pale hair practically glowing, was on his knees right at the center of it, bent forward in supplication. His quiet sobs could be heard across the enormous room.

A thing – for he could not be called a man – sat in the position of power in the room. His slit-like pupils were angled towards the sobbing, pitiful man who kneeled in the centre. As she entered, His eyes wandered towards her, and then His face rose into an expression that could only be identified as joy. The beautiful pureness of the fairest of one of the emotions, however, looked out of place on His revolting face, pulling His death-white skin even tighter over the bones, and flattening His snake-like nostrils to the point where they were almost invisible. His mouth opened, and a snake-like tongue darted out, licking His nonexistent lips eagerly, before calling out a single name coaxingly "Bella!"

Instantly, the previously empty room was filled with scores of forms in dark robes. Her own guide, who had stopped with a look akin to horror when she had seen the writhing man, now hurried forward towards the throne, carefully avoiding the ritual mark. Falling in front of the throne on one knee, she pulled the hood higher over her face as she waited for a command from her master.

The snake-like man, however, had no time for any of the others who sat on the edges, both wanting and fearing His attention. He was solely interested in one of the other sacrifices in the room. Spreading His arms wide, He stood up (the kneeling woman trembled in fear) and walked forward, gently bypassing the woman.

"You have made us wait for your company, Bella!" He called out joyfully. She shivered, not in fear, but in disgust. "But now that you grace us with your presence, I must admit that it was well worth the wait. You look lovelier than ever. The fresh air did you good."

He paused, as if waiting for a response, and when receiving none, He continued. "It is one of the greatest privileges in life to not only be awarded the purest of blood, but also such a lovely figure. The God's have indeed blessed you, dearest. You were lovely in your prime, but I must confess that there is something else, now, some sort of new light that illuminates your eyes and draws viewers to you like moths to a flame."

"At the time of escape from Azkaban, you bore all the scars that a person who has to spend time at that hellish hole has to. But now, they are hidden, and the lovely Bellatrix Lestrange is present with us again! Ladies and gentlemen who are present in the room, may I present to you the lovelier than ever, Mrs. Lestrange!"

His high voice rang around the room, and His followers nervously began to clap. The applause was thin and halfhearted, and quickly died out, but that seemed to satisfy Him, for He soon turned around and walked towards her again. "It is your very great fortune that you look so lovely tonight, Bella. Indeed, few people have the luck to look so enchanting when they die."

There was a single, collective gasp around the room, and every one leaned forward almost imperceptibly to hear her answer. She refused to give them the satisfaction, and continued to look straight ahead, back ramrod straight. She had always known it would come to that, but to hear the words spoken, to have it confirmed that she was really going to die – it had shaken her. She had no fear of death itself – it would be a welcome relief from this life – but of what would come after it, the part which no one knew. If she could have some confirmation, some sort of insurance, that she would meet _that person, _then she would fall on her knees now, and beg Him to kill her, but if there was any truth in all those religious books, she was going to hell as surely as Lucius was, and _that person _would not be in hell – he would be in heaven, with all his pureness and goodness, living the life which he deserved after death. The person she served had snatched _that person's _entire life away from him while she had sit back and done nothing, despite the fact that she loved him more than could be fathomed in the present state of mind. She had murdered and cursed, tortured people to insanity, plagued them until they begged her to kill them, but there was nothing more she regretted than having simply sat back and done nothing, eager to have more presence in His mind, to hold His interest the longest, to be the most precious to Him.

And where had all those favours, all those whispers about how _she _was His favourite, gone now? She was standing in a room, surrounded by mindless, pathetic people who were watching her like those savage barbarian Muggles saw their own kin being torn apart by lions at the Colosseum. She was standing here, watching her nephew tremble in fear as he saw his aunt and father being sentenced to death by the Dark Lord Himself.

The Dark Lord turned once more to face her, sweeping out His arms dramatically. Earlier, when she had been foolish and looking for power, this act would have thrilled her as a symbol of His power, but now it merely resembled the act of an old, decrepit fool who had a penchant for drama.

"We will not forget you, Bella and Lucius! You will remain in my memory forever as two of my most loyal servants, who unfortunately were led aside by a bit of… thoughtlessness on their part, shall I say? We will hold out your death ceremoniously, just as you deserve. It will befit the death of some of the Dark Lord's most valuable servants."

"My Lord," Lucius finally croaked, raising his silken blond head to look at the figure in the black robe. "My Lord, I beg of you -"

"_Silencio_," Lord Voldemort said coldly, pointing the thirteen and a half inch yew wand towards one of his former generals. Lucius fell silent as if struck. "We have told you, Lucius, that this is a great occasion. I will be greatly… displeased, if this was to be disrupted in any way. Now, of course _you_ wouldn't be here to witness that, but I dare say that your wife and son -" here a great sweep with one arm towards where Draco cowered " – would not appreciate it."

Lord Voldemort swept around the room once more, looking at each of his follower's individually, but not looking at them at all. "We will begin the ritual as it always starts – with penance. Bella and Lucius, I must ask you to remember all the things that you regret in this life."

Lucius closed his eyes, tears rolling out from underneath them. She had no doubt in her mind that he would do exactly as told. The Dark Lord would undoubtedly use Legimency, and Lucius wasn't strong enough of an Occlumens to go up against him yet. _She _was, but she would perform the ritual anyway – not because the Dark Lord had demanded it of her, but because she needed to do it, to think of all the regrets in her life, and of all the mistakes that she had made. There were so many of them that she didn't know where to begin.

The torture of the Longbottom's would make it on her list. They were good people – purebloods even. It hadn't been their fault. She wouldn't even have done it, really, if Rodolphus and Rabastan hadn't been there, along with that rat-faced Crouch boy. They had pressurized her, and because of the recent turn of events, which had left her pretty shaky and out of character, she had done it so that they wouldn't get suspicious. She had regretted it every day since then – after hearing about it in the trial – and after she had escaped with His help, each day, a bouquet of the most beautiful chrysanthemums used to find their way to Alice Longbottom's bedside.

There were so many other muddled regrets in her mind. Faces of a pleading Muggle family, the mother clutching a small baby to her chest. Images of a white room, all sides white, and a purple potion in a small diamond vial. Images of a man falling through a tattered black veil, of a hand given, but not taken, of a smiling face against the dark outline of one of the windows of the Hogwart's Express. All of the memories she had thought she had forgotten, but which still plagued her mind like rats gnawing away at it, so much pain, so much suffering.

They were coming faster now, burning her eyelids. A long corridor, made of stone, and a face twisted with pain and rage, framed by dark hair. Laughter beside the lake, dark mornings spent inside alcoves, the shrill sound of Cissy laughing. Snape's face when she had insulted him, _Dumbledore's_ face when they had killed him, so many faces, so many words. A faceless Muggle, pleading with her with his eyes because his tongue had been cut out. A dark girl, Muggleborn, holding her baby and pleading with them to let go, to please let the baby stay alive. A dark red canopy, the colour of blood, right above her eyes as someone was on top of her, grunting, and then _inside _her, seeing that blonde girl, the Hufflepuff, with _that man's_ arm around her, him ignoring her, the walk through the Azkaban cells, hearing the screams of the people, and oh god please make it stop, this pain, and feeling the Dementor's, their suckling breath's on your skin, feeling their glee at having new victim's to torture, seeing his face inside that hellhole, filthy and dirty and tired and haunted and yet oh so beautiful, standing in front of the Dark Lord, Him telling her that her nephew was going to be sent on a suicide mission, a passed note, an apology that was not accepted although it should have been, whispered words of love that were ignored, a plea for her to come, again ignored, an argument, a fight, blood, blood, so much blood, blond pummeling black, her screams, begging him to stop, please stop, or else he would get hurt, oh god, pale. long hands playing the piano, then shifting to make room for her, a face, holding her's in his hands and telling her that he loved her, walking down the aisle in a white dress, seeing the face of her husband, closing her eyes every time she and her husband made love, imagining _his _face their instead, a black tattoo on a white arm, the sense of something wrong, of dying, dying, falling, of seeing him fall through the veil, of trying to go through herself, but failing, Lucius holding her back, murmuring quiet words of comfort before he was caught, of a pale blond face kissing her, even though she didn't want him to, and somebody stop this GOD.

She came back to reality with a gasp, her eyelids burning with unshed tears, her chin held up by a pair of long, spidery hands. Lord Voldemort's face looked back into her own, smugly satisfied. "How does it feel now, Bella?" he asked quietly, almost curiously. "How does it feel to think of all the mistakes you made? All the things that could have been much better if only you had made the right choice, performed the right action?"

He smiled humoulessly at her, the skin stretching tight over bones, and then abruptly turned, opening his arms wide and facing his entourage once again. "Lucius," he announced grandly. "Refuses to think of his mistakes. He is confident that he has lived his life the way it is meant to be lived."

There was a murmur of discontention from the crowd. Their sadistic souls had hoped for a little more torture, blood and screams then the simple, non-magic induced recollections that were taking place. The atmosphere was thick with dissatisfaction. Ever the perceptive one, Lord Voldemort sensed it at once.

"Worry not, my friends," he said delightedly, almost as if enjoying their predicament. Which, being the twisted, evil person he was, he probably was. "All will be done in due time. For now, I am afraid, we have another visitor.

He whirled, and Narcissa Malfoy fell back on her knees as if struck, her hood falling behind to reveal a pale, terrified, tear-stricken face. Lord Voldemort walked forward, dramatically placing each footstep as he approached the small figure in black robes at the base of his throne.

"Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa," he crooned softly, almost lovingly. "You have performed a great task for me today, haven't you? Ladies and gentlemen," he continued, turning to face the crowd once more. "When Narcissa approached me here today, I felt sure it was to plead for the life of two of her closest living relatives. However, she surprised me with her loyalty and determination when she insisted on fetching both of them to their eventual demise. It has been a tough day for her, as today will be the last she shall see of her husband and her sister, in this world at least, but her loyalty and bravery in face of this needed act was admirable, and today I am truly convinced that she is one of my most trustworthy followers!"

The crowd roared in approval, and Narcissa's eyes searched frantically for Bellatrix's. Bella's dark eyes met Narcissa's pale blue ones, and her heart tore apart at the anguish and need written large in them. Cissy was in so much pain, poor thing, her own sister. She had so much to contend for. Her husband and sister were dying today, but she had to keep her mouth shut and ask not for forgiveness, because if she did, then her son's head would join the ranks. There was fear written in those eyes, fear for her son's life, fear that Lucius and Bella wouldn't forgive her for betraying them like this, anguish for having to see her two closest relatives being insulted and demeaned in such a way, despite their high ranking in society.

It was humiliating for Bella as well to go through this mockery that the Dark Lord had set up, but she kept her mouth shut. 'Dromeda, Cissy, and Draco's lives depended upon it. She could do nothing for Lucius, but at least he would have the safety of knowing that his wife and son's heads wouldn't be burnt alongside his because of _her _fault. She would never let her sisters and nephew get hurt, even if one of them was married to a Mudblood. Great Salazar, she would even protect her Metamorphagus niece, and the werewolf husband of hers too. Family, she had been taught since her very first week, was the most important thing in the universe, and her sister's relations were hers too, even if they included a Mudblood, a werewolf, and two Metamorphagus'.

The Dark Lord was talking again, but she was barely listening to him, focusing instead on the thoughts of family and friends. It was much more comforting to think of them instead of what was going on presently.

Lord Voldemort was performing some sort of ritual now, saying ancient-sounding chants so fast that they were a blur to everyone's ears but Bella's. A red light streamed from his wand, binding itself like melting iron to Bella and Lucius, just as painful, but she refused to scream. The hot metal squeezed tighter into her skin, and she could hear Lucius' agonized screams, the Death Eaters' chilling, gleeful laughs, and Narcissa's heartbreaking sobbing, but she shut herself out, trying to remember, thinking, reminiscing…

There was only one way out of this hell. She would have to go back to the past, thinking of one of the most important things in her life. It was the only way that she could forget this pain and not humiliate herself as she approached her death.

So she thought about him…

The one she loved most…

Sirius Black.


	2. A New Evolution

**Here is the next chapter of the story. I hope you like it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

**~conorlover~**

* * *

Chapter 2

A New Evolution

Bella was bored.

She was seated amongst her so-called 'friends', children of other wealthy pureblood families. What a joke. Bellatrix Black didn't have any _friends. _She had acquaintances, who would widen domestic and international options for business later in life, as well as perform more covert favours to disguise what might be scandals.

Bella was the favorite of her father, if only because she was the best business opportunity he had had yet. And also because she was the only one in his family who understood what he was talking about.

At this time during a normal day, she would have been sitting in her room as her house-elf, Binky, performed her toilette before dinner. However, since today the Black family had been invited to Grimmauld Place, she had been made ready beforehand, and was now dressed in one of her finest gowns, a black silk affair with dark eyelet lace. It had cost a pretty galleon, but it was nothing that the Black family couldn't afford. Besides, Cygnus Black knew that this dress, which would be outgrown in a few months, was an investment. Seeing his lovely eldest daughter, one of the pureblood scions he was to be dining with tonight would undoubtedly entertain thoughts of a possible union between her and one of his sons.

Bella, as all young ladies should be, was sitting gracefully in an armchair, arms resting regally by her side and legs gracefully folded in front. With her black gown and jeweled hair, she looked just like one of the more imperious paintings hanging in the households. All this grace and royalty, however, was wasted on the company she was surrounded by. Aunt Walburga had insisted that the 'children' go upstairs and play, leaving the 'grown-ups' for sensible talk, and thus Bella was stuck with her so-called friends.

Most of them were children her age, for the elder ones were downstairs with their parents, being flashed as property to impress or incite business deals. Bella, at age nine, was considered far too young to tempt any suitors by her aunt, even if her father thought differently, and was thus delegated with the 'children' above. Needless to say, Cygnus had been quite furious at this marvelous waste of opportunity, but later understood that the small curtsey and elegant introduction that Bella had given of herself to the rest of the guests when she had arrived was enough to make a sufficient impression. She could not be easily forgotten, after all.

Now, she sat on an armchair, disdainfully watching her younger sisters and cousins run amuck. The company was diverse, but the manners were all the same. Disgraceful. Neither Evans Rosier nor William Avery seemed to be very thoughtful, judging by the way they were running about with that silly baton over their heads. Andromeda, her own sister, was sitting on the floor with a large bucket of what looked liked rat entrails, although it could not possibly be, digging through them. Cissy was screaming at the top of her lungs as several house-elves frantically tried to quiet her, lest they be punished. And her cousin Regulus was calmly pulling at one of the elaborate braids that were tied upon Andromeda's head. Bella contemplated intervening for a moment, but then decided against it. Her mother delegated babysitting duty upon her often enough. She wasn't going to do it this night too, no matter how boring it was.

Larissa Black, better known as Lara in her household, was not keen on looking after her children. She had never wanted them – they stank too much, cried too much, and completely ruined her pristine figure – but since her husband had needed an heir, she had given birth. All three times had been completely for naught, each producing a useless girl instead of a much-needed boy. After the birth of Andromeda, his second daughter, Cygnus had started to fear that he might never have a son, and would forever be cursed with daughters who he would have to pay for and give dowry for. This statement was true, up till now, at least. Cygnus was making frantic efforts to change that.

Dismissive of the useless appendages that she had birthed, Lara often abandoned her children to go on month-long shopping sprees to Paris, Rome, Milan, Berlin, anywhere with better fashion than dreary old England. Her children suffered at first from the lack of attention, but Bella, the eldest, a quick learner, soon learnt to accept her mother's absence, and performed her directed duty of looking after her younger sisters. Her father, though initially disapproving of his wife's flighty nature, began to accept it after she flatly told him that she couldn't bear a male heir until she was comfortable. After eight years of that conversation, she had still not borne him an heir, but he was still hopeful.

Bella always performed her forced duty with the grace and good temper rarely found in a child her age, but today was different. She was uncomfortable in her new dress, and irritable at being forced with company so obviously beneath her. Besides, there were house-elves – they would take care that her sisters wouldn't do something that would get her reprimanded _very _badly.

She sighed in frustration yet again as she looked at the gathering of children. If only she had been a boy! As a girl, she had no use to be downstairs unless she was older and attracting prospective husbands, but if she had been a boy, the first born, then she would have been down amongst that elite gathering, drinking wine from crystal flutes and showing off her fine graces. The heirs to various families were always below, joining their fathers in business matters and behaving in a manner befitting their positions.

_She _would have been the rightful heir, child of Cygnus, the eldest, if she had been male. As it was, the role was designated to her cousin Sirius, the eldest son of the second brother, Orion. His younger brother, Regulus, was here, as his presence was not needed there, but she _would _have been down there, instead of Sirius, if only she had been born a boy.

She felt a slight resentment towards her cousin, then banished those thoughts from her mind. Such thoughts did not befit a young lady of good position. They were best left to those less fortunate, and those filthy half-bloods and mudbloods. She was a pureblood, and one in high society – she would behave like it. She was to be elegant and graceful, even in her thoughts. Thoughts like the sun, mother said.

It was astonishing, because Bella looked nothing like the sun. In fact, if there was anyone in her family who resembled it, it would be Cissy, and perhaps her mother. They were both blonde and fair, and very beautiful. Bella was beautiful, too, but hers was another beauty. She had skin made of pure ivory, the whitest possible, but instead of giving her a deathly appearance, it shone with an energy that made people unable to take their eyes off her. Her hair was very dark, darker than any seen before, ebony, and her lips were a stunning red, even without any artificial remedies. Her eyes were the richest South American cocoa, their dark depths hidden behind long eyelashes and heavy, hooded lids, which gave her an aura of mystery. All this combined to make a stunning figure, impossible to ignore even in her tender age. Cygnus was right to consider her his crown jewel, and also to predict that he would be besieged by marriage proposals when she became of age.

Her sisters were quite different from her. All the Black sisters were beautiful – it was almost necessary to consider you a Black – but they could not be compared to their eldest sister. Cissy was like one of Raphael's angel paintings, her golden hair floating behind her like a halo as she smiled with a cherubic face. Andromeda was darker than Cissy, resembling Bella greatly, but somehow all wrong. While Bella's features combined to make her stunning, Andromeda's clashed, and made her look awkward and out of place. Nevertheless, compared to all others who did not possess their superior familial genes, she was far more attractive. She too had dark hair, but not Bella's ebony. Instead hers was a soft nut-brown, paired with gentle chocolate eyes. Sometimes when Bella was in a good mood, she would joke about how they looked good enough to eat.

Regulus, too, had gained the good looks of his family, with a firm chin and aristocratic features, but currently was putting them to no use, so busy as he was with his cousins' hair.

She looked at them one last time before abruptly getting up and exiting. None of the house-elves noticed her, busy as they were with Cissy. That was how it always was – she was always ignored in favour of her two younger sisters. _They _were the younger ones, the more 'fragile' ones. _They _were her mother's favorites. Even today, Mother had given her pearl earrings and brooch to Cissy, completely forgetting Bella and Andromeda. _Cissy _was the one that looked like Mother, after all, the one who had inherited her fair good looks. She would forever be her favorite child, and the only one she cared about. Bella and Andromeda were merely wallflowers, previous disappointments. Andromeda didn't care so much, being too young to notice the absence of something she had never had, and being perfectly content with the affection that Bella showed for her, but Bella herself was unhappy. She went out of her way to please her mother, performing all of the duties that were traditionally that of the matriarch, but Lara never seemed to notice the dark child, so unlike herself.

She walked out of the French doors to one of the balconies, trying to relieve her agitation by some solace and quiet, but was unpleasantly surprised to find that the balcony was already occupied. On close observation, it emerged that the person who was occupying her escape was her cousin Sirius. The same Sirius who was supposed to be downstairs with the rest of the guests, giving a good impression and behaving as a Black should.

"What are you doing here?" she spoke before she realized it. Perhaps it was because of her long need for company, perhaps because he seemed so composed after what she had just left behind her. She did not know, but it almost bubbled out of her, as though escaping from her lips. If she really had as much understanding over her emotions as she thought she had, she would have understood that the queer, inquisitive feeling flowing through her now was curiosity.

Sirius turned. His dark eyes were astonishingly cool in his flushed face, and his expression was completely blank. Wiped clean like a slate. He was wearing dress robes, coupled with a heavy cravat that looked odd on someone even younger than herself. She felt her eyes drawn to it for a moment, fascinated by the heavy diamond and the Black family coat-of-arms engraved on it, but soon grew bored at this frequent sight, reverting her eyes to its much more interesting owner.

"Escaping. What about you?" Sirius asked, a flash of light coming into his lifeless, dull eyes.

Although they were cousins, she didn't really know Sirius. All of their previous meetings had been social occasions, as was this one, amongst many people at large functions and familial gatherings. This was the first time they were actually conversing, apart from the formal 'hello' they said in greeting, while surrounded by many people.

"I thought you were supposed to be downstairs, with Uncle and Aunt," Bella asked a little suspiciously. Her rather naive mind couldn't understand why he would be up here, instead of downstairs, enjoying himself.

"I am. I gave them the slip – snuck out through the house-elves' exit," Sirius replied, turning away again, as though bored by Bella and her ordinariness. She would have felt insulted by it if she hadn't been so interested in his words.

"Escape? But why would you want to escape from there? It's so lovely - everybody treats you like a grown up, and there's no screaming," she asked, rather childishly. Since her dearest desire presently was to be amongst the adults, she couldn't understand Sirius' revulsion to them. It was naïve of her, and Sirius knew it. He gave her a rather dismissive look as he replied.

"_You _wouldn't understand. You're just a girl – a little kid, no better than Regulus."

Bella felt anger flare in her at being compared to the mentally undeveloped Regulus. "For your information, _I'm _elder to _you _too, if you remember. You're younger to me by almost a year."

"Only physically. Mentally, your understanding is no better than mine."

She felt insulted again, and was about to retort sharply, but then she saw his expression. He was smiling slightly, as if amused. Furious at the thought that he was laughing at her, she tried to use her wits instead. She knew that she would only serve as a source of further amusement to him if she retorted, so she tried to curb in her temper, and asked quite civilly "So why are you up here, anyway?"

Sirius shot a quick look at her, then turned his head back. "I don't _want _to be there, among all those gossiping old ladies. It's no fun listening to someone blabber about how much money they made this week. And all those boys! Absolutely useless, right down to the last one. Most of them are just like their fathers, going on and on about money, or about their latest conquest this week, or flirting with those giggling parasites they call girls. The only one who's just barely tolerable is Malfoy, and _he's _always with his father."

"I'm sure you've got it wrong – it's bound to be endlessly amusing, to be able to converse with intelligent human beings instead of getting trapped with screaming children." Bella replied rather thoughtlessly. Her own perception of glory and concession was so clearly fixed that she couldn't imagine it any differently.

Sirius' nostrils flared. "That's what you would think," he retorted harshly, biting the words. "_You're _just a thoughtless girl. You don't actually have to be down there, among those foolish opportunists. Social gatherings, my foot! Why don't they just call it by their proper name – a moneymaking party. That's all they do here. Discuss their newest business deals, try to trap others into investing with them – its nothing but a fancy way to disguise hardcore advertising. Even the women, they talk about nothing but money, about this necklace or the other. It's so frustrating! Hearing only about how 'he's such a splendid son', and 'you raised him well, Orion' and 'he'll be a fine heir'. I am the person I am because of myself, not because of anybody else."

Bella frowned. This was against all that she had been taught until now, about how it was your parents who were responsible for turning you into who you are, about how it is completely to their credit. "Don't you think you're being a little selfish there? Your parents raised you and made you into who you are."

"_Raised _me, yes, fed me, yes, but they did not change my personality. My personality and my thoughts are solely based on what _I _think and fell, and how I analyse the world. Parents can only influence us upto a certain amount – after that you make your own choices and develop your own mind."

"I disagree. My parents have undoubtedly raised me to think as they do, and to show me the correct way to go through society and life."

"_You _think so, but it's not actually true, is it? Especially not for you, I hear. Tell me, what are your thoughts about the election of Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

She frowned, wondering as to his strange question. "It's a travesty, of course! The man is a blood-traitor, and he shouldn't be allowed to sully our pure blood with the filth of half breeds and savages. There is bound to be some trickery involved."

He turned suddenly to face her, fury whitening his face. "That's not what _you _think, merely what others _want _you to think. You've heard this reply so many times that you have become convinced that this is what you _must _think, that if you do not, then you are not behaving properly, or some other hippogriff shit. I want you to tell me what _you _think, what _your _reflections and deductions are upon this situation."

She frowned. He was so arrogant! Of course these were her own thoughts. Dumbledore was a senile old man, who had a nasty taste for foul blood. He would bring nothing but disgrace in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

Unless… it was something else. Her father had always talked about Dumbledore in a nasty fashion, and the Daily Prophet hadn't been too kind, either, but Bella was more well-read than her parents presumed she was. Often at night, she snuck into the library to peruse those books and articles which were forbidden to her by day, and once, she had even stolen several essays that had belonged to her reformist, disgraced Uncle Alphard. The perspective and viewpoint given in those had been quite illuminating, and although she had to covertly return them to his desk after he had publically complained, she had managed to read one essay before that. Dumbledore was _very _strong, and _very _capable. It was he, after all, who had defeated Grindelwald, and he who protected England against his wrath. Countries all over Europe were toppling like dominoes, and even though he was supportive of the pureblood families, she did not pretend that life would have been as comfortable as it was now underneath him. Grindelwald was powerful, and didn't need the alliance of the pureblood families like the Ministry did. The Ministry counted on the purse of the pureblood families for many a venture, and was quite happy to be a petted dog to receive its prize, but Grindelwald wouldn't need any of that. All he would have to do was take it by force, and the pureblood families would be bereft of all their political connections and wealth. The stability of the wizarding world as it was would collapse, too, and the economy and social and collective security would come crashing down. It would be a depressing, oppressive world to live in, without any freedom, and always in the company of fear and poverty.

And Dumbledore had defeated him. Saved the wizarding world from the likes of him. And he was rumoured to be extremely intelligent as well. Certainly, he had the most teaching experience, and he was undoubtedly the smartest and most powerful person who was eligible for the job. He had been deputy Headmaster to Dippet, and had done a better job than the old coot himself. He was, without a doubt, the man for the job.

"I think," Bella said slowly, still adjusting to this change in her thoughts. "I think that he would be fantastic at the job. He's powerful, and smart, and has a long history of teaching. Plus, he has several accolades to his credit, combined with a heady authority that would do well to govern at Hogwarts. And besides that, he is the one who was the most accomplished, the best out of those eligible. He doesn't have a very good attitude towards purebloods, its true, and is most undoubtedly a blood traitor, but Hogwarts isn't going to get rid of filthy blood anyway, and all worthy purebloods are in Slytherin, so there's small room for argument there. Also, he would concentrate on the student's benefits, at the state of their education instead of focusing on getting Ministry recognition and positions like Dippet did. He's already been offered the position of the Minister twice, and he's refused them both times, so I don't think he's very ambitious. I think… I think that he's the best man for the position."

She looked up, almost apprehensively, to see Sirius smiling at her, not a smirk, or one of amusement, but a genuine, happy smile. She felt her heart lift when she saw it, the same way that it lifted when her mother appreciated her, and realized, with a shock, that she had been wanting to impress him, to make him think favorably of her. Small waves of pleasure ran through her as she recognized having achieved her unconscious objective.

"There you go," Sirius said, sounding mighty pleased. "Your own viewpoint, your own thoughts, different from what others have told you. You should always question and debate internally upon every single thing that others have told you, for only then can you forge your own personality, to make the unique individual that only you can be, instead of some plastic clone of generations before you."

He turned again, but this time, there was a small place beside him near the stone railing, just enough for her to squeeze into. With a shock of delight, she realized that he had finally accepted her, allowed her a place at his side. She didn't know why, but this pleased her greatly, and she went with a sort of pride to join him there.

They stood in silence, the young boy and girl, both not even having reached double digits yet. Exquisitely beautiful, but also deep and cultured in thoughts, one since birth, and one just turned. Together, they made a breathtaking picture, the thoughtful boy, and the enchanted girl.

Bella stood by Sirius for a long time, until the house-elf ran the upper bell for dinner, and it was reluctantly that she left him to go eat. He looked at her when she said goodbye, and there was a strange, dreamy look in those bottomless abysses now, as if he was contemplating something that he didn't even know he was thinking of. He waved her off almost distractedly, and she felt hurt, until he turned again with a disturbed look on his face and clasped her hand for a moment, squeezing it tightly before letting go and turning towards the view again. She stared at his back for a long moment before turning and going back inside, clutching her hand to her chest, an understanding building within her, but still waiting to be acknowledged.

She found Sirius Black utterly fascinating.

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	3. Black and White Together

**Here is the third chapter. To everybody who is reading this, thank you, and I hope you enjoy. I would love to hear your comments. **

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Chapter 3

Black and White Together

The sky was like an orchestra, perfectly composed, the loud soprano of the violin fading into the gentle tenor of the cello's, the high melody of the flute blending in with the perfection of the percussion.

The sky was like an orchestra, and he was like the conductor, perfectly organizing and assimilating the cacophony of colour into something that exploded in a shower of sparks and gold, from which you dare not remove your eyes for fear of losing your mind, for if you missed this sight, then what was life to live for?

She had often looked up at the sky, at that vast expanse of swirling blue and white, floating serenely above her, promising another life, and another world. She had often looked up at the sky, but she had never really _seen _it, and today, he was the one who had forced her to open her eyes, to look at the hope that lay beyond those cotton clouds, to look at what it mirrored, a realm of emptiness, and of perfection, a world where they could lose themselves, alone, just together, forever.

She wanted to be alone with him. She wanted to be alone, and to just hear his voice, talking about things that she didn't know, speaking, just saying something that may be life altering or as simple as what the colour on the maple's leaves was at this time of the year. She wanted to just _be _with him, to somehow make him want to be with her, to own just a small, a tiny piece of his time, for it would mean owning a piece of him.

Theywere young, she had no delusions about that. They were turning fourteen soon, both of them, and would be entering their third year when school started. But when school started, then they would be apart. They were not supposed to be together, him and her, and they weren't. They were completely different people, and yet exactly alike. She was the prodigy, he was the black sheep, and yet, she, the one who was declared the best thing that had happened to the Black's since the unexpected windfall seven centuries ago, was enthralled by _him_, who was often forgotten, or rather, _overlooked_, at meals, or in any social function. _He _should have been the most important, the firstborn son, while she was merely a girl, but she was, and that changed everything.

In the real world, where everybody looked at them because they were Blacks, and thus the most important beings in the room, any room that it may be, she wouldn't even talk to him. He was invisible to her, a fly that was beneath her attention. He had been sorted into Gryffindor, the house of common fools, while _she _was the princess of Slytherin. They were mortal enemies, even if they were blood relatives, and she could never forget that – rather, nobody would let her ever forget that.

To society, she was the epitome of the perfect pureblood witch. Rich, beautiful, and with manners to match. Appropriately flattering to people that mattered, dismissively cold to ones that didn't. She was already being hailed as the next belle of the ball, and it was not unknown that several offers had already come for her hand. Cygnus was waiting, but not for very long – he wanted to see if he could get a better deal, snag a higher price for his most vivacious daughter. She was the one who would make him a far richer man than he already was. She was nothing more than an opportunity for him, a slot at an auction, and he was merely waiting for the highest bidder.

He was exactly the opposite. Devastatingly handsome, and equally devilish, he fulfilled the ladies' desire to have an attractive villain around their meagre lives. They watched him, but did not approach, for he was exactly the kind of person their Mama's had said to avoid. He had shamed the black family by entering Gryffindor, house of the foolish and headstrong, and the insult of this was not lost upon on his mother. Instead of being repentant and apologetic for committing such an atrocity, all he did was gain a cocky attitude, which, while gaining him a bad reputation and officially blackballing him, also made him irresistible.

She was supposed to avoid people like him, even if he was her cousin. She was supposed to treat them worse than house-elves, for he was a disgrace. She was a pureblood princess, and he was the cocky swindler, the person who ran away with the maid's daughter, the shame of the court. She was the proud family insignia, while he was their dirty laundry personified. The only way he could have been any worse was if he was a squib, in which case he would have been smothered to death far before he would have even been introduced at society.

But he was not a squib, and never would be. He was Sirius Black, and he was dangerous, and caused those delicate maidens at society balls to clutch their hearts and take a sniff of their smelling salts. His magic was powerful and dangerous, and she was attracted to it and him. She was vain, and presumed that she understood him, that she was the only one who could truly see behind every façade of his, but in her heart, she also knew that she only saw what he allowed her to see, that she was no better than one of those silly girls in their pink feathered hats, and it infuriated her, to be reduced to that level, to be ranked so low when she had always been at top.

But this fury was soon forgotten when she was with him, for, even as he spoke sardonically to her, mocked her, criticized her, and demeaned her, all she wanted was to be with him for one more moment, for that moment to stretch into forever. She could be herself with him, be the inquisitive, pretty, insecure, prejudiced brat that she really was, and she knew that he would never judge her. He would make fun of her, of her little mannerisms, of the way she turned her nose up at certain things. He would mock the way she blindly accepted what society told her, of the way that she believed that she was important and needed, of the way that she was nothing more than a lamb for slaughter, but still, like a fool, believed that she held any importance in the world. He would laugh at her assumption that she was really something more than just a price tag, that all the people who wanted to meet her wanted to meet her because of charisma instead of getting a sneak peek down her dress. He would make fun of her and demean her, and declare her a silly little incompetent fool who thought herself a great deal more than she really was, but he would never judge her. Once she had burst into tears at his words, and sworn, because she was addicted to him, because she could not, would not, live without him, that she would change, that she would try to become better, most spiritual, more saintly, more pure, more virtuous, what he wanted her to be like.

He had laughed and wiped her tears with her thumb gently, saying "Silly little Bella, you really do take things at face value, don't you? The only reason I like you is because of who you are, because you don't pretend to be some sort of virtuous thing when you could really be Mata Hari inside. You're selfish and mean and cruel, and you know that, and I love that about you. Your imperfections are your perfections, and I wouldn't have you any other way. Don't you ever dare change."

An unspoken promise had been made that day, that she would always remain like she was at that moment, vulnerable, insecure, and foolish, and he would want her like that. She was perfect the way she was to him, and he would always want her, because she was his, and would always belong to him. She may be insecure and naïve and a fool, but she was _his _insecure, naïve fool, and she always would be. A promise had been made, and innocent and naïve that she was, she had intended to keep it forever, to never change, but to always remain just as he wanted her to remain. She was addicted to him, and if he had asked her to jump out of a balcony, then she would have done it without a second thought. He knew that she would get hurt, and she knew that he knew that she would get hurt, but she would have done it anyway, because all she had ever wanted was to please him, was for him to be with her. Nobody else mattered, not her parents, not Andromeda, not Cissy – it was him, him, only him. She had to be apart for him, and it tortured her, for the only thing she wanted was to be with him for the rest of her life.

He would tell her to think things through, to develop and consider, to have her own mind, and she tried to take his advice as much as she could. She had been raised to be shrewd, and to be calculating, for life was business and nothing more, and she was an investment and nothing more. Her duties in life were to find a suitable husband and refrain from shaming the Black name. She held away from him out of loyalty to her duties, but she knew that her true loyalty was to him and him alone, that if he were not there with her, she would perish. She was like a phoenix, dying every time she had to be by his side but apart from him, and reviving again when they were together, for when they were together, nothing could stop them.

She knew that if an ultimatum had been given, if she had to choose between her family and him, then she would choose him without a second's doubt, for he was everything to her. She needed him to survive, and she needed him to live. Family was a prestige, a privilege, but he was necessary. Without him, she was nothing but a simple, plain little painted glass doll.

She liked to think that he needed her too, just like she needed him, but she knew, somewhere in the little rational part of her brain that was left, that this wasn't true, that it would never be true. She was not a necessity for him the way he was for her – he was like the air she breathed, like blood in her veins, while she was like an extra scoop of ice cream – a guilty pleasure, but nonetheless, not necessary – he would do just as well without.

But he stayed with her. He left and came at his own convenience, he tortured her, he tore her apart, but he built her back. He did not care for her feelings or her emotions, simply using her for his own benefit. She was something that was amusing and slightly pathetic, and he found it to his convenience to put aside a few hours from his day to come watch her, as if she were a particularly affectionate and amusing pet.

She was in love with him, and she knew, and he knew. He knew that she was in love with him, and he did not care, for she was just another in the long list of women that would love to have him love her back. She was in love with him, and in that short time that they spent together, she wanted to pretend that they were together, that he loved her too, but she could never imagine it. He was too carefree, too flighty to ever be in love with somebody, and she knew it. She knew it, and it did nothing to deter her. It did not hurt that he did not love her back, for it was part of who he was, and she loved every bit of him, from the dark eyes under his long lashes, to that silly foolish Gryffindorian in him. She would not accept him any other way. He was who he was, and she was in love with who he was, and that was it. Nothing she could do would change it, and she didn't want to change it anyway. Being in love with him was part of her and who she was, and it was partly what defined her. It was an intrinsic part of her, and she would never live without it.

The sky was blue now, with fluffy white cotton clouds floating lazily in it, marking a perfect day. In a few hours, the sky would turn into an artist's palette, full of vibrant pinks and reds and yellows, shot through with a few feeble strands of blue and green. It was like the crux of a symphony, the defining point, the climax. The entire day was a build up until that very point, where the sun would turn into a great orange ball of fire, and the day's symphony would reach its most epic proportions.

Then night would fall. Dark, silent night, curing which the sky would be lit up with million of bright stars, twinkling, a single moment of light taking millenniums to reach their eyes, but worth it, every second and every wink that it gave. She would tilt her head back, and silently count the stars, just like she did every night, out of a sense of bonding and loyalty to her family.

Cygnus, Orion, Regulus, Alphard, Narcissa, Andromeda.

Bellatrix.

Sirius.

It was the last one, the Dog Star, that she would look at the longest. Its bright light, shining and then winking itself out, almost like it was laughing at her, or perhaps with her. On long, lonely nights, when she was confined to her room, or when she was in her Hogwarts dorm room, with five other girls snoring their hearts out, she would perch on the window ledge, and look out. Theirs was the only room that had a skylight above ground – the rest of the Slytherin house was under the lake. She could hear the soft tap-tap sound of water lapping against the walls, smell the freshwater lilies that grew on its banks, and see the night sky in its full glory.

Particularly the Dog Star. It was almost as if Sirius exposed himself for her and her alone.

At school, they had to be apart, because if they were not, then she would lose what little self respect she had. It was a finicky thing, respect. One moment it was in your grasp, the next it was flying out and making a mockery of you. She was the Slytherin princess, and even if she was just a girl in a society of men, she knew how to command respect.

She was thirteen years old, and already most of the house made way for her.

It was a difficult thing to be a girl in Pureblood society. The entire system was patriarchal, and men ruled the world. Women were given birth to only for making political alliances, and for forming kinships between families. They were simply a medium of continuing the fine pureblood line. Bella may be a Black, the highest pureblood family, but she was also a girl, which brought her beneath all the other pureblood males, even below the blood-traitor Prewetts and Weasleys.

She was a princess, and yet she was no match for even the stable-boy. Her opinion would have mattered less than that of an Arthur Weasley, or a Gideon Prewett.

She knew that as soon as she reached around fifteen years of age, her father would legally bind her in an engagement with another rich pureblood. Being a Black, she would get the richest husband imaginable, but she would not get to choose him. He would be chosen for her, on virtue of how much he was offering to pay the Black household in return for his beautiful young bride, and how low a dowry he would ask. He could be a few years younger to her, or he could be older than her grandfather. You would never know.

Bella's own maternal grandmother had been fourteen when she had been married to ninety-seven year old Germano Rosier.

Needless to say, Bella had not spent much time with her grandfather.

Her mother had been relatively fortunate, for she had been married to a man scarcely eight years elder to her. With the new Ministry ruling as of five years past, Bella herself could not be married until she was seventeen, but could be engaged far earlier.

Cygnus considered it a blessing that he had waited until Bella was a beautiful young girl to betroth her instead of throwing her away in infancy at some atrocious bargain. Now that she was desirable, and would continue to grow more and more lovely every day, her market value would also rise. She was, after all, nothing more than a business investment to him.

Magical contracts once made could not be broken, and Bella knew that once she was engaged, she had no option but to marry her fiancé, unless he died or she did. There was the other option of putting of their wedding forever, but that would leave her an old maid. She could not marry another, for her name would be written in ink next to someone else's, bound with many spells and incantations.

There was the other option of killing her husband, but Bella wasn't concentrating on that yet. Much.

Even at thirteen years of age, Bella knew that she didn't want to spend her life with someone other than Sirius. She didn't want to marry him as of yet, and she definitely didn't want to be engaged.

She simply wanted to sit by him forever, to lean against him, to hear his voice, whether it was reciting poetry or mocking her.

She loved him, and that was it. He was her first love, and he would be her last. Even if later in life she became convinced that her affections were better wasted on someone else, a part of her heart would always belong to that little boy around whose neck she put her arms and whose heart she kept her ear against when she was feeling unwell or simply needy.

Bella was selfish, and she wanted him for herself, and when he was with her, then she had him. She was content.

Aunt Walburga often refrained from introducing Sirius at gatherings, ashamed of his house, but she could not help but bring him to her brother-in-law's house. He was the eldest male Black, and he would be Cygnus' heir.

Whenever Sirius came over, Bella would wait in delicious anticipation and agony from him to emerge from her father's study, where he was holed up with her father.

Narcissa and Andromeda were content with Regulus, boring old Regulus, the perfect epitome of what a good child should be. Sorted into Slytherin, already making a name for himself as a Black. Average marks, but a perfect suck up to all the teachers. He knew whom to look up to, and flatter, and whom to avoid.

He faded into the shadows, while Sirius stood out.

Different in every way possible, brilliant. Sorted into the house of fools, but still top in every subject. The prince of the school, the heartthrob, and yet rude and snarky to every teacher. Uncaring for others feelings, or how he was supposed to react to them, how he was supposed to delicately handle negotiations. He was the ultimate controversy, the Cain to Regulus' Abel.

And she loved him. She tolerated little suck up Regulus, who tried to engage her, the bored princess, the ultimate standard, with his boring, bookish sentences, and his political views, and she obliged him because otherwise the cane would be brought down hard upon her back by her father. But she waited for Sirius, Sirius who would emerge from her father's room, his overly long hair in his eyes, untidy, and yet superbly elegant and fashionable. Sirius who would look up inquiringly, his gray eyes searching the room for her, and on whose face a smile would appear when he found her, barely restraining herself from slapping stupid, clingy little Regulus and running over to him and putting her arms around her neck. Sirius who would mock her, but who would wipe away her tears, and who would calm her grievances.

Sirius who may or may not love her, but who she would adore beyond all compare until the last of her days.

In the end, when she was about to die, she remembered the unspoken promises she had made to that little, dark haired boy who she loved. The promises she had kept, and the ones she had broken.

She had lied. She had not remained the same. She had turned harder and darker. She had not questioned everything, but given herself over as others wished of her, instead of resisting for what _she _wanted. She had become a puppet. She had allowed herself to be manipulated, while knowing that she was being manipulated, and possessing all the abilities to stop it. She had allowed herself to be controlled, simply because it was easier than to fight back. It was easier, and she hated herself for it, because it was the decision that had caused her the most pain she had ever felt, and him too.

And yet, she had remained the same. She had remained the same, because even now, decades later, she still loved him. She loved that little boy who had met her on the balcony outside his home, she loved the inconsiderate, mocking preteen who sat with her watching clouds outside her estate, she loved that sexually and politically charged adolescent who had grabbed her many a time in some remote corridor at Hogwarts, shaking her until she believed what he was saying. She loved that drawling, elegant, lazy man who he had become right after they had graduated from school.

She loved the spirit in the eyes of the man who had been thin as a skeleton and behind bars when she had been brought to Azkaban.

She loved the man whom she had killed, loved those grey eyes from which she had extinguished the light.

She loved Sirius Black, and always would, no matter what.

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	4. Faith in A Cause

**Standard disclaimer applies. I do not own Harry Potter**

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Chapter 4

Faith in a Cause

Blackness. Death, despair.

From beyond the small sphere that she inhabited, the radius which no one dare cross, she could hear people shouting. What a ruckus they were making! Didn't they understand that the Dark Lord didn't like people raising their voices in his house? They would be punished.

Punishment under the Dark Lord came as a Killing Curse if he was merciful and as a Crucio if he was not. She herself had several scars on her back from bearing the brunt of his rage. However, she was too valuable to him – far too entertaining – to be discarded like the rest of this trash. She would survive, but not without scars to show for her disobedience.

They cacophony grew louder. She stirred from her potion-induced haze and frowned. The Dark Lord would not be pleased, and would punish all of them. If they didn't learn how to behave themselves, then she wouldn't be responsible for the consequences. Order was the only thing that mattered – the sole reason for their domination. They were organized and working for a common goal, unlike those fools, the Order of the Phoenix, who were all swayed by individual emotions.

It was a futile attempt anyway. The Order may be headed by Dumbledore, but the old fool was senile – and had been for quite a while – and unable to lead a successful resistance against the might of the Death Eaters. Already, the Order had lost several valuable members – she remembered a particularly satisfying family of three whose father had been spying for the Order. The way the mother had screamed when they had burned her alive…

But now was not the time to think about the intricate delicacies of taking revenge upon your enemies. She was in charge here, and even though it had been Rowle who the Dark Lord had appointed to ensure their safety, she was still inadvertently responsible for the lives in this room. Not the trash – they were dispensable – but the cream of the society, the ones who kept the war effort funded. If the Ministry – or what was left of that corrupt institution – found out their little hiding nest and took some of their wealthier members under arrest, well then, they could see an effective end to another source of funding. The Dark Lord would not be pleased then, even if she offered to fill in the missing gaps herself. The Lestrange vault was rapidly thinning, and Rodolphus, fool that he was, was far more interested in retaining his wealth and becoming a fat, wealthy old baron rather than using his money for a good blood-cause. The Black vault had been closed to her since her wedding day, except for her sizeable dowry, and that too had been expended upon war effort. Who knew how much it cost to keep a bunch of unworthy rats fed?

She had often suggested wiping them out, simply abandoning them to the elements, scornfully dismissing their potential, but the Dark Lord was patient. He knew that the heavy bulk-work could be taken care of by these vermin, and that his favorites, the more important members of his society, could concentrate on more pressing and delicate matters. Sometimes, just for a little fun, he sent his favorite, but she was much more exciting, more vivacious, when she was by him, and that was where she was kept for the better part of his time.

Her eyes, hooded with heavy, exquisite lids, swept over the room, perfectly formed mouth forming a sneer at the motley medley of upper-class and barely acceptable. She could see Lucius, her own brother-in-law, sullying himself with the likes of Greyback. How he went with that body to her sister, she did not know. If she was Narcissa, she would make him stand out in his own lawn and scrub himself clean before she allowed him to enter her house.

She would have been Narcissa, if he had his way. But that was a story for another time.

Her dark eyes roved the room, searching for her own husband. She finally located him, leaning on the upper balcony, looking down upon this unruly crowd with distaste. She had to give him this – Rodolphus had taste. He may be an absolute pansy, but he had something resembling a brain, and could at least distinguish between the true purebloods and the trash that was littering the floor as of now.

She sauntered up the wide marble stairway, sliding her hand along the ice-cold banister. Only the truly worthy were allowed up on the first floor. The filthier elements of the Dark Lord's army stayed put on the ground like the dogs they were. The Dark Lord himself inhabited the second and topmost floor when he was present, but due to the fact that his current location was hidden from everyone, including herself, the highest level of the mansion was empty.

Rodolphus turned to look at her as she approached him, eyes flashing with excitement. He had been the one who had been pleased when their engagement was announced. He could not resist, after all – she was startlingly beautiful. Even now, when Bella was approaching thirty, her hair still had the same luxuriant shine, her face the same haughty pride, and her demeanor showed signs of the strict upbringing that had been necessary for her. He had been a lucky man to catch Bellatrix Black, even if she despised him.

The hatred that Bella harbored for her husband was unfortunately partly his fault and partly by default. He was, physically, not unattractive, with strong Easter European features and sharp, angular edges, intimidating and yet inviting. His wit, too, was acceptable – at least he knew how to differentiate between sarcasm and normalcy most of the time, which was more than could be said for most of their acquaintances. He was a pureblood of the highest order – which was expected. Cygnus wouldn't allow his precious Black daughter to be thrown away with some poor pureblood trash. She was far too valuable for that.

In terms of monetary funds too, Rodolphus was more than competent. His family came from old money, like hers did. He was the elder brother, which meant that he would inherit most of the estate. The sidelines, the business transactions, would be handed over to his younger brother, Rabastan, and both of them would continue to expand their family's empire.

Rodolphus had everything that her colleagues looked for in potential husbands – he was handsome, somewhat charming, slightly arrogant and proud, a respectable pureblood, and had a fortune that would send most heads dizzy with rapture. Furthermore, he believed in the radical ideas of blood purity dominance. To anyone who knew him personally or didn't, he was the perfect husband.

And she despised him.

Every trait of his, every characteristic, irritated her. His handsomeness was overbearing, his charm rusty and overused, his arrogance insufferable, and his pride infuriating. He may be from an acceptable pureblood family, and he may have a fortune, but she was a _Black._ They were practically royalty in the Wizarding World. For all his money and wealth, it was Rodolphus who had been honoured by her family's interest in him, not otherwise. She was, in her teenage years and even before, the most desirable girl in the entire country, even if she had been an old crone with missing teeth. Her name alone was enough to make her wanted.

And his ideas – they were so false, such pretended airs, that sometimes she wanted to put him over her knee and slap him hard, like a matron does to a naughty infant. He may believe in blood purity, but the only reason for him joining the Resistance was to gain some new contacts, shower himself in a more favorable light. He could care less for the cause.

As his wife, she was supposed to exercise supreme discretion when it came to matters dealing with her husband. But Bella was no ordinary society girl. She had spirit, and it was this very spirit which enticed men to come to her, which made them follow her like panting dogs despite the fact that they knew that she was unattainable.

Rodolphus was no stranger to her strange moods. Bella could be loving and subservient one moment, and loudly announcing his latest affair the next. She had wreaked havoc on many marriages with her wicked pleasures, and strained many more.

It was a wonder then that the Dark Lord did not punish this mischief-doer. Then again, she was his favorite.

Bella did not hate Rodolphus for his blatant infidelity. She hated him for the norm that he represented, the restriction that he imposed on her life. She knew that she was just as talented as any man in this room, despite what those old hags thought. The Dark Lord knew it too. After all, hadn't she been the first woman to join his ranks? Even today, the number of women under the Dark Lord was alarmingly low. And yet Bella was the most treasured of all, even more than the men.

It was unfortunate for Rodolphus that he was saddled with a wife who found making his life difficult an extremely enjoyable pastime. It was a strange stroke of luck for Lucius who had wanted her as his wife, but, because of the blessings of some kind angel, been graced with a sweeter, more conventional version. However, as a person granted with the best never truly realizes the value of his belongings, so did Lucius not appreciate the quiet and proper behavior of his Narcissa.

Bella swept to where Rodolphus was standing. His eyes were cold and calculated, for once betraying the raw intelligence that she knew lay beneath but which he was too lazy to use. He was wondering if she had come to strike a conversation or to embarrass him in front of all his allies yet again.

Bella was in the mood to be entertained. "Are your whores present in this group, Rodolphus?"

He bristled at his wife's clear, nonchalant tone. "Only one, and she stands before me." The words were carefully chosen, for he knew that there was nothing Bella resented more than being called his.

Sure enough, her eyes flashed with an unholy fire, and her mouth twisted, revealing her ugly side. For all her beauty, Bellatrix Black was cruel, and cruelty can never manifest itself without ugliness making an appearance. The casual remark stung her ego, and her will, her desire to hurt, showed itself through the anger that was kept barely controlled at the threshold of those black eyes. "It seems that despite how I have trained you, you have learnt no manners yet, Rodolphus. Tell me, is it just you, or is your entire lineage so very stubborn in matters of obedience?"

To Rodolphus, a pureblood of the highest order, and a conservative politician, this was a stinging barb. To insinuate that he was below his wife, when all the signs in nature clearly pointed out that he was superior to every female, was unbearable. The added insult against the Lestrange dynasty was just icing on the seething cake. However, being a politician, and a rather good one, despite whatever Bella may think, he controlled his fury, instead choosing to replace it with a cold smile. "Whatever _my _family may be, at least we are not traitors, Bellatrix. I could say less about yours."

Bella flushed an alarming red. To an outsider, she would look the part of the blushing bride, if it were not for her tightly pursed lips and her narrowed eyes. This was one insult to which she had no refute, for not one but _two _members of her family had betrayed their heritage. Sirius had refused to join them altogether, and Regulus, the _coward_, had joined, seen the lack of sympathy for his 'delicate' sensibilities, and promptly quit.

Her mouth curved in a sneer in remembrance of her youngest cousin and his pathetic, stuttering excuses. Regulus was a sorry excuse for a Black, lacking the necessary confidence and drive that had led them to the top. It was fortunate that he had been… disposed off.

"Furthermore," Rodolphus continued, enjoying the discomfort etched so clearly on his wife's face. "You don't seem to be so discriminating against all members of _my _family, Bellatrix. I dare say you are quite fond of Rabastan."

Bellatrix's face, which had been stormy by clouds caused by mention of her traitor cousin, brightened up at the reference of her brother-in-law. Unlike Rodolphus' and Bellatrix's cloudy relationship, Bellatrix was firm friends with the liberal, emancipating, clever Rabastan. It had got to the point when Cygnus had dryly commented that he ought to have married Bellatrix off to Rabastan rather than Rodolphus.

"Rabastan is far more civilized and enlightened than _you _could ever be, _darling_," she sneered. "Where is he, anyway?"

"I would not presume to know about the habits of my infidel brother," he said lightly, angered by the obvious contempt in her voice. "I would assume that he is entertaining a lady in his bedchambers. It is no concern of mine, however, unless that lady happens to be you, _dear_."

"Clearly you have yet to learn how to speak civilly, Rodolphus. I will leave you to your remonstrations."

She stalked away, anger burning in every fiber of her body. It wasn't as though she minded Rodolphus' accusations about a liaison with his brother – she did not think of Rabastan in that way at all. He was simply an intelligent, passionate individual who happened to be highly qualified. More than once had she wished that she was married to the other Lestrange, and he seemed to be of the same mind, considering the numerous times he had made an indecent proposal involving the two of them. Bella, however, was only enchanted with his mind. He was physically attractive in a way quite different from his brother, possessing fair hair and skin, but to her he still was but a comrade, and she would not sully her reputation by soiling her body with indecent pleasures.

It was the insult towards her family that bothered her most. The Blacks were the highest rung of society, and to have lower people insulting and mocking her family made Bella furious beyond any comparable anger. Nobody, not even the Malfoys, the Notts, the Averys, the Lestranges, or the Parkinsons, was worth even one tenth the value of being a Black. No one but a Black was worthy of a Black, and yet these inferior leeches dared to humiliate the Black family.

If Bella had had her way, she would never have given up her last name. She treasured it, honoured it as it was meant to be honoured. She was proud of her name and what it implied, and proud of the way others looked up to her.

But if Bella had her way, then Sirius would never have left.

She blinked away harsh tears, determined not to cry. Most of the time, she avoided even Sirius' name as much as possible, but today Rodolphus had reminded her of her cousin and former lover. If Bella had her way, then she would have kept her last name forever, only as Sirius' wife.

But Sirius didn't want her, not anymore. He was off in some other country, wining and dining with Uncle Alphard's money. He had left her behind, discarded as if she was some used gift-wrapper. He didn't matter anymore, anyway.

Once upon a time, Bellatrix Lestrange may have needed Sirius Black to love her, but now she had a different purpose for life. And that was her Cause.

The Cause. The reason why all of the men below were here in the first place. She had the Cause to live for now, that belief which had been ingrained in her since childhood, and which she wholeheartedly supported. Dominance and overpowerment were necessary now, especially since that fool Dumbledore had introduced integration in all parts of society. Bella frowned at the thought that she had gone to school with such vermin, those filthy Mudbloods. In her father's time, if such a thing had even been suggested, then it would have been shot down with cries of horror.

Dumbledore. The whole thing was that senile fool's fault. Despite being a pureblood from an illustrious family, he had abandoned his traditional blood and pride to instead become a blood traitor. Because of him, dozens of innocent young pureblood children were at this very moment being forced to intermingle with the lowest form of filth imaginable, with dirty, dishonest magic thieves.

During Bella's time, even, she had come across many a Mudblood inside those walls. For sure, she was in Slytherin, where none but the purest blood was allowed to reside, but her classes, her very food, was to be shared with this inferior subspecies. Sirius, too, had been thrust between them, but he had, betraying his own blood, actually _socialized_ with those thieves, talked to them and treated them like his _friends. _She had once refused to let him touch her until he washed himself clean of their filth, and he had, his eyes hardening, called her a fool and stalked away.

But she was no fool. Didn't this cause prove it? She was a member of the most elite, most ideological group ever created for the purpose of blood purity, taking part in the biggest crusade against mudbloods ever initiated.

And they were winning.

Soon, the entire country would come under the control of the Dark Lord. And then, finally, she could exact her vengeance on those filthy mudbloods. They had sullied her honour by daring to approach her during those seven years at Hogwarts – ruined her purity by daring to assume that they were as good as her, a Black. They had to be brought to their proper place.

A few of the more delusional pureblood families still sided with that pathetic race. The Dumbledores, for one, despite the brave actions of Peverell Dumbledore, and the Potters for another. But they would be made to see the light, though they were blood traitors, because they were of the purest blood, and the Dark Lord was merciful.

She snuck a look downwards, to where those lesser beings were still haranguing among themselves, and a sneer flitted over her face when she realized the Lucius was still talking to that animal Greyback. The dire conditions in which they had to room sometimes made her skin crawl, but the Dark Lord often assured her that it was only temporary, that soon, when they had won, he would dispose off all unnecessary trash.

Still, she couldn't understand the reason for Lucius' intimacy with him. After all, he had always been the pioneer of blood purity when she had been at school. Even later, he had been one of the firmer and more prominent advocates. For him to lower himself this way was not only unexpected, it also shocked her a bit. To see that some great blood, even if it was not as great as the Black blood, should stoop to the level where they would speak to someone not even _human, _was unimaginable.

Bella, for all her virtues, could not be, under any condition, a politician. She did not understand the value of alliances, the delicacy of coalitions, choosing instead to move forward with a single-track mind and dominate all. Lucius had the makings of a true politician, and the foresight to see ahead, scrutinizing both sides of the coin. He was jubilant at the fact that the side that his morals and ethics belonged to was winning, but he was also prepared if somehow the situation should flip on its head.

He despaired at Bella's fixation – admired it, but despaired also. He knew that his own belief was flawed, that he had seen too many empires collapse to ever throw himself enthusiastically into a cause without forming a safety net, and that the Dark Lord saw and understood. He understood, but did not approve. Lucius was close to the Dark Lord, but he was not intimate with him, not like Bella was. Bella's mindless devotion endangered her, and yet, it brought her closer than ever to their leader. It was a strange balance, one that would benefit her greatly if they won, and one that would ruin her if they lost.

But when the end truly had reached, when there was no hope left, then a broken, contactless, helpless Lucius Malfoy used all the remaining influence he had to try to extract his sister-in-law from the hopeless mess that she had cast herself in. Fortunately, his son Draco always believed that the efforts were because Bellatrix was his sister by marriage – his wife, Narcissa, knew better. She knew, and resented, her husband's love for her own sister, and the fact that every night Lucius came to bed, he wished that it was Bellatrix waiting for him rather than Narcissa.

It was this same resentment, this hatred that grew in Narcissa day by day, that would later prompt her to betray her own sister, and leave her to the wolves.


	5. Confrontation

**I know this chapter is spectacularly late, but what can I say? It had a mind of its own.**

**I originally wrote over twenty drafts of the fifth chapter before I started this one last week. It was meant to go in a completely different direction, but the characters had another intention. It swerved down a little used alleyway. All I can hope for now is that it won't crash and burn.**

**Standard disclaimer applies.**

**Reviews, as always, are very much appreciated.**

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Chapter 5

Confrontation

The sound of the door slamming echoed throughout the room, sinisterly leaving traces on the walls. Loud footsteps soon followed the noise, a low voice cursing fiercely, while its receptor stood calmly by a degraded and defiled mahogany desk.

"You fool! You fool!" The rage in Sirius' voice was palpable even from a distance. He was truly furious now, angrier than she had ever seen him. She felt a small amount of unease building up in her chest, but quashed it with the memory of love and faith. Sirius, of all people, would never hurt her.

Nevertheless, she kept her wand at the ready. She had seen calm and gentle wizards use the most terrible of curses when not in their right minds, and the expression on her lover's face was guaranteed a painful and prolonged death to whomever she would choose to unload himself upon. She could only hope and pray that he would have the good sense to not make her his punching bag.

But Bella was right on one account. Sirius cared for her far too much to hurt her. It was this very love that now twisted his face in rage and betrayal. "You fool, Bella! How could you?"

Bella attempted to keep calm despite the small, terrified voice that warned her to run. "You know I had no choice, Sirius. He made me – Father _made _me do it, you know he did."

"Then why didn't you come to me?" Sirius' voice was almost inhuman in its agony. His eyes burned with a fire that threatened to envelop the world in flames. "Why didn't you come to me, Bella? Why didn't you ask for my help? We could have solved this together, we could have found a way out. Why did you let him do this to you?"

She flinched from his voice, a small part of her that was fueled by instinct rather than blind devotion forcing her to move back and away from this dangerous animal that threatened to smother her. "Sirius I – I didn't know it was going to happen, I swear on –"

"You LIAR!" The sound no longer resembled his voice – it had been turned into an inhuman, animalistic shriek by the force of pain and heartbreak. "You knew about this from the very start, you knew that this was going to happen, and yet you did nothing! You just stood there and let them play with your goddamn life, Bellatrix, just let them decide your future. And even now – even when practically everything's gone to ashes anyway, you didn't tell me! I had to find out from goddamn Pertha Parkinson, Bella! I had to find out from her that the girl I _love _is going to be married off to Thomas Nott!"

She flinched back from his harsh words, his rebuttal hitting her like a slap in the face, and for the first time, the entire extent of the folly of her actions was evident to her. She gasped as tears began to cascade down her face, realization slamming into her with the force of a Bludger during a game of Quidditch. She had been wrong – so wrong, and now that could cost her so much. "Sirius –Sirius, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - ," her voice had retreated into itself, overcome by thick sobs that threatened to engulf her, breaking out of her and revealing themselves to the almost empty classroom in which they were present.

She took a step back in fear, the true enormity of what was about to happen to her rendering her practically senseless, the emotion heightened by the confines of the tight corset that Lara insisted she wear in order to fully highlight her attractive figure. She encountered a step, and tripped and fell, her bottom making a resounding 'thwack!' as it came into contact with the hard stone floor, cold from imbibing the chilly November air. She was so startled that she forgot even to place a hand over her mouth, as she sobbed senselessly, feeling nausea and breathlessness overcome her.

Breathlessness. She couldn't breathe, she realised. Whether it was the enormity of her actions, or some more material catalyst, she did not know. Her lungs were not able to fully imbibe air, and were protesting, her brain shutting down. Some materialistic, ashamed part of her observed that she probably looked very silly, what with tears running down her face, sitting on a chilly floor with legs wide open, and gasping as it tomorrow wouldn't come, but the strength of the lack of oxygen that her blood was screaming for overcame any and all other thoughts and sensations.

Dimly, the coherent part of her registered the sound of footsteps across the cold stone floor, and then a pair of hands, warm from rage and the fire which they had rested by until recently, were tearing into her clothes, slipping below her outer robes, finding the corset below and ripping it open, the lace and satin flying everywhere as he sought to release her from the bond which threatened to suffocate her. She could feel the destruction of her clothing, and the sound of her ears popping and her throat gulping as her body eagerly forced oxygen back into itself.

When she was somewhat more conscious, she looked up to find herself resting awkwardly against Sirius, the front of her robes torn, pieces of torn white lace tumbling out from between the rents in the expensive material of her school robes. Her face was matted with tears, and bits of her silky hair stuck to the wetness on her cheeks. Sirius was holding her up, propping her against his own body, as he calmly stroked her hair and wiped the tears from her face. She looked up at his worried face – what a change from the previous rage! – with teary eyes underneath long, wet eyelashes.

He pressed his lips to her hair, keeping the pressure there for a few moments before turning to face her. "Whose idea was it for the corset?"

Her voice came out cracked and broken, exhausted from the emotional upheaval and physical ordeal it had been forced through in the last half-hour. "Mother's."

He snorted. "Figures that Aunt Lara would think of something like that."

"She said it would highlight my figure," a vague and misplaced sense of familial loyalty obliged her to retort, although the attempt was half-hearted. It was Sirius to whom she owed her true loyalty, Sirius above anyone else.

He pressed his lips to her temple, thrilling her with the intimacy and affection of the gesture. "You don't need material constrictions to highlight your figure," he murmured in her ear. "You're already the most beautiful witch in Britain."

She felt her heart swell up at his words, especially precious because Sirius didn't dole out compliments easily. Each one was hard earned and especially lovely – usually he preferred to criticise or insult her. Though Bella's devotion to him was so great that even his jabs were like music to her ears, his whispered words, full of love, brought her into the throes of quiet ecstasy.

Her jubilation was silenced when she remembered the events that had brought them into this predicament. "Sirius, about the engagement – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"

"I know," he whispered, cutting her off. And he probably did – because he understood her better than herself – but she still felt guilty and obliged to explain.

"I was jealous – I _was _jealous. I saw how much time you spent with that Ravenclaw, and I thought you had forgotten about me, and all I wanted to do –"

"Was make me notice you again," he finished for her. She lowered her eyes, ashamed. "Silly Bella," he laughed. "Silly, jealous, envious little goose Bella. All your poorly conceived plans seem to backfire, don't they?"

She bit her lip, looking almost adorable as she asked him "Is it too late, Sirius? Do you think they can't stop it now?"

Her companion tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "When do you have to sign the contract?"

"This Christmas, when I go home for the holidays."

They both knew that once the contract was signed, it could not be broken. She would be forced to remain with her chosen 'husband' forever, or stay an old maid. With the amount of money invested in her, Cygnus would surely ensure that it was the former.

And then they would not be able to be together.

His hand idly rubbed circles around her nape as he answered "I'll do something before then. Maybe it'll just delay Uncle, but that'll be good enough. I think Malfoy…" His voice trailed off, his eyes brightening as his clever mind began to work out a way to free her from her Father's clutches.

Bella's eyes snapped up to look at those of her lover, inquiringly searching within those grey depths the answer for that strange exclamation. Sirius rarely uttered Lucius' name unless it was for an insult of some sort. It was common knowledge that the two scions hated each other, and although it was much lamented in the upper circles of pureblood society, it also gave the high-class witches comfort to see some semblance of normalcy in the increasingly changing times that they inhabited. After all, it was only to be expected that the Prince of Slytherin, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, the epitome of a good pureblood wizard, should despise the blood-traitor Black.

"Someone else would do just as well," Sirius said decisively, his elegant, well-formed nose wrinkling slightly at the idea of having to use Malfoy, however unknowingly, in any one of his plans. The hatred between the two ran deep, extending from a deep-rooted rivalry in childhood to the battle for affections of a certain dark-haired witch in Slytherin. "Wilkes might fit the plan."

Bella twirled a strand of her dark hair, appearing for a moment almost like an innocent child, although she was anything but. "What about Wilkes?" Her voice, for once, contained genuine confusion and naiveness.

Sirius turned to her, his grey eyes glittering with ideas for one of his infamous mischievous plans. She felt the first stirring of unease within herself, even as excitement grew within her to hear her beloved Sirius' plans. To say that she worshipped him would not be an overstatement. "What do you think Uncle would say if I proposed that he deferred the engagement to Nott because Randall Wilkes at school has shown quite a bit of affection and attraction towards his eldest daughter?"

The shift in the air was almost palpable. Bella drew away from Sirius, hurt coursing through her veins at her beloved's casual dismissal of her, as Sirius, oblivious and uncaring of her feelings, continued. "Surely he would consent – after all, even he, with all his pureblood bigotry, is nothing more than a hard-headed businessman; if I gave him an opportunity to further his financial prospects, he would not wait for a second before grabbing at it like a dying man clutching at straws. And it is common knowledge that the Wilkes' have better connections than the Notts."

"Is that all I am to you?" Bella's voice contained true rage for the first time that day, and a novelty indeed, when she was with Sirius. "A toy to be passed around like pass the parcel? From Nott to Wilkes, and so on and so forth? To be given to whomever suits your fancy?"

Sirius, to his credit, looked bewildered – an expression not often found on the Marauder's face. He had, with pure, if somewhat possessive intentions, been thinking of how to extradite Bellatrix from her father's claws, and in doing so had inadvertently incurred the rage of his devotee. "What on earth are you talking about, Bellatrix?" his tone was impatient, and a slight crease had formed between his elegant eyebrows. He was a mischief-maker of the highest order, and forming plans was one of his chief pleasures in life. To find the delicate balances of his thinking interrupted by the apparently sudden burst of wrath from Bella, caused his rather sensitive temper to inflame, and thus, he called her by her full name, a connotation that Bella despised.

Bella, for one, was enraged at hearing Sirius addressing her by her full name. While rather proud of its uniqueness, she was, nevertheless, used to being called his 'Bella' – a nickname that belonged to him and him alone, although others had attempted to take that liberty with her. Her already delicate frame of mind promptly disintegrated at this, and, in a rage, she pushed Sirius away from her harshly, shoving him into the nearest pile of desks. It was not that she meant to hurt him seriously – she never would – but she was raised in a manner that suggested that she was better than anyone and everyone else, and to find someone, a person whom she valued especially, rather, to be playing around with her life so carelessly, enraged her to the point of physical violence.

Sirius, on the other hand, had imbibed some values from the House of Black, if only the ones that pertained to male dominance. Startled and shocked at this aggressive behavior from Bella – the submissive and passive partner in their odd relationship – did nothing but fuel the flames of the fire that had been ignited in him when a smirking Pertha Parkinson had informed him that the blood of the House of Black was going to be mixed with those of the inferior one of Nott. Surely, she had meant it as a barb – to instigate him into violence at the idea of his _pure _cousin being thrown away on such filth – but the rage caused in Sirius was of quite another variety. His passions were inflamed at the thought of another man apart from himself even daring to dream about obtaining Bellatrix.

It was in this fragile state of mind that he had made his way to her, pure luck somehow managing to prevent him long enough to catch her when she was alone and not surrounded by her pureblood delegation. He had seized her in a frenzy, his consternation causing his grip to be unusually harsh – Bella would find finger-shaped bruises on her upper arms that night – and thrown her into the nearest classroom, intent on demanding some answers.

And now, when all mysteries were cleared, and he was in the process of extracting her from the mess that she had involved herself in somehow, she had the audacity to _insult _his intentions and use physical violence against him!

Sirius was not normally a violent person, but his rage overcame him at this gross misdemeanor, and he pushed Bella back, hard. She tumbled against the desks that were stacked behind her, falling backwards with a sharp cry. Long years of being waited upon at the Manor had not served to accustom Bella to be very hardy, and that was evident at this very moment, as she gave a sharp cry while hitting the floor, her shriek overpowering the delicate '_snap' _of her wrist as it shattered.

If someone had been witnessing this scene, they would undoubtedly have been horrified, and yet simultaneously shocked and intrigued by this unusual display of behavior between cousins. While cradling like lovers bare moments ago – Bella's torn robes further insinuated this incestuous fact – they were now fighting like bitter lion cubs. Savage, animalistic expressions donned both their faces, a sense of hurt and betrayal hovering around their profiles, for both of them believed themselves to have been wronged. Bella was distraught over Sirius' apparent disregard for her and her future (for she believed that he was intent upon her marrying Wilkes), and Sirius was furious over her silly mood swings.

The sound of Bella's shattered wrists echoed around the whole room for what seemed like eons, although in reality it was but a few moments. Like all terrible deeds, this one seemed particularly heinous to the delicately-raised Bella, who had never known anything but affection, and, like the small spoilt child she was, she began to cry, tears spilling out of her eyes yet again.

Yet the change in demeanor in Sirius was palpable, for as to when he had comforted her only a few minutes before, now her surveyed her sobbing form with disgust and distaste. "You are a fool," his clear voice rang around the stone classroom. "A blubbering, idiotic fool; and I hope that you do end up marrying Nott – you two would make a fine pair for each other."

And saying so, the uncaring boy promptly left the room, his instinctive concern for his cousin evaporating in the flames of his wrath. Sirius' temper was perhaps his worst attribute, next only to his impatience, and this very fault had caused the otherwise sensitive young man to turn an uncaring eye to his cousin's evident agony.

After his departure, Bella sat crying for many hours on the cold stone floor, her own absorption with herself and notions of superiority causing her to not even consider the ideas of calling for help. Rather, the idea did not enter her mind. She was so entirely accustomed to be served to on every bend that she was quite like a helpless infant at this moment.

Bella was the brightest witch in her class, and certainly the most ruthless. An outspoken advocate of the ideals of blood-purity, she was envied by the whole school as possessing the best of everything. However, at this moment, this very privilege turned against Bella. Used to having everything delivered on a silver platter, she was shocked by the brutal display of violence which had taken place against her. Although her father often terrorized her with threats of caning, Cygnus rarely took the initiative. He was well aware that a scarred daughter would not fetch nearly as much money as one without any blemishes whatsoever, and was careful to avoid any unsightly marks, such as those that a cane or whip would leave.

Bella had always been catered to by house-elves or governesses, and had never in her life not found assistance at her right hand when she needed it most. Her fifteen years had been filled with utmost luxury, and now, finding herself in a position where she found herself fairly helpless, she was unable to do anything but cry like a spoilt child.

For how many hours she sat on that stone floor with tears rolling down her cheeks, she did not know. All she was aware of was that by the time she had finally deduced that nobody was going to come and help her, the sky was dark, and small stars twinkled coldly outside. Bella had never been one for superstition, and yet she could not help but feel that even the stars were mocking her, taking in her small, shuddering, barely clothed form with distaste. That a pureblood, and a Black at that, should appear in society so disgraced…

Fortune must have been on Bella's side, for she made it back to her dormitory without anyone noticing. If someone indeed had noticed the shivering girl who had slipped past like a shadow in the hallways, then they would have certainly be astonished, and under no circumstances would have believed her to be the regal Bellatrix Black. Bellatrix Black possessed a queenly persona, what with her hooded good looks and her haughty manners, and Bellatrix Black certainly did not wander around the corridors with the front of her robes torn, bruises on her arms, and a broken wrist held tenderly. Bellatrix Black didn't have dried tear tracks on her swollen cheeks, and she certainly did not skulk around like a shadow. When Bellatrix entered a room, even sloths sat up and took notice.

Pride prevented Bella from approaching Madam Pomfrey about her broken wrist that night, for the suspicious matron would no doubt ask as to Bella's activities that would lead to her shattered appendage. Bella was in no mood to face the mule-headed matron, and so she spent the night in near agony, gritting her teeth so that her dorm-mates would not hear the sound of her cries above the Silencing charm that she had put on her bed.

The next morning, however, all illusions of her pride were shattered. Her wrist, almost definitely shattered, had swollen to thrice its normal size, and the pain was almost unbearable. Bella, unable to control herself any longer, had practically sprinted to Andromeda's dorm to ask if she had any pain-killing potion. Andromeda, her eyes widening to double _their _usual size, had promptly seized her (unbroken) wrist and dragged her down to the hospital wing.

And now Bella was suffering under the watchful eye of the matron.

The events of yesterday had only further served to ignite the flames of the queer relationship between Bella and Sirius. While some experts would call it parasitic – with Bella dependent upon Sirius – it was not so. Rather, it was a symbiotic relationship – in which neither of them were under the control of the other, but couldn't survive without each other either. The odd balance of power – Sirius' control over Bella, his seeming independence, and Bella's adoration for him – would later come to dominate the delicate relations between the two of them, and would be ruthlessly exploited by both the sides of Light and Dark.


	6. Determination

**This chapter caused me a considerable amount of trouble, since, for the past 10 days, I have tried to upload it, to no avail.**

**However, it has been uploaded now. A few notes:**

**This chapter didn't go exactly the way I had planned it. I had to cut about 3,000 words because they just seemed clumsy, and out of place. Thus, and entire (and very important) scene has been cut out. However, it will be replaced by something else in the future chapters.**

**Bella is nineteen at the time of this chapter.**

**Enjoy! And please leave some feedback.**

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Chapter 6

Determination

Winter had spread its cold fingers throughout the country, and its presence could be seen everywhere. Snow, white and pure, fell from the sky, bringing delight and misery to children and homeless ruffians respectively. Christmas was drawing near, and although it was a religious festival, and the Wizarding World did not believe in religion, centuries of its celebration had caused it to become somewhat of a general celebration, and thus, it was celebrated almost universally in the western hemisphere, even among Wizarding households.

It was custom among the upper echelons of society that each prestigious household throw a Yuletide party, and it had been adhered to for decades. The custom in the Lestrange house, however, had been broken with the entrance of its newest member, Bellatrix, and although old Mrs. Lestrange had quite a strong personality, there were few that could match Bellatrix's fire. And thus, going along with her will, silly little celebrations such as Christmas had been postponed, as the new mistress of the Manor found it beneath her to be responsible for such mindless frivolities. Rodolphus had been angry with her persistence, but he knew, as did all the others who knew his wife, that she was uncontrollable. She despised everyone in his household already, with the sole exception of Rabastan, with whom she seemed to have formed a perverse bond. The two could often be seen together in his library, reading some or the other great work that pertained to the ideals of blood purity.

Ever since Bella had stepped into the Lestrange household, the house had been irreparably changes. The post of authority, originally in the hands of Rodolphus, what with his father being often gone to tour for medical remedies abroad, had now shifted, and no one was sure with whom it rested anymore. Old Mrs. Lestrange, formerly a strong figure of authority, was now cowed by her strong, opinionated daughter-in-law and spent most of her time abroad shopping, where she sometime bumped into Lara Black. Old Mr. Lestrange had been diagnosed with a genetic defect caused by excessive inbreeding that caused him to develop symptoms similar to the Muggle disease dementia, and thus he was considered unfit for being in-charge of all the Lestrange investments. Thus, Rodolphus, being the eldest, was the de facto leader, and it was his word that was considered law generally. However, ever since Bella had arrived, her open defiance of her husband's wishes and free-willed manner had somewhat undermined his authority. Thus, the question of leadership was somewhat up in the air.

It amused Rabastan to no end that matters had come into such a head like this. Being born as the younger son, he had resentfully watched his elder brother receive all the privileges of life while he, Rabastan, received little in the form of remuneration. Now that he was of age, he spent his time wallowing in an extravagant house that his mother had dotingly gifted him upon him graduating Durmstrang.

Rabastan found great pleasure in the fact that Bella preferred him infinitely to his brother, not only because of the irony in the situation (since Rodolphus had taken what Rabastan believed to be rightfully his, and now Rabastan had the one thing that Rodolphus could claim as his own), but also because he gained the company of a beautiful woman. He had, at first, thought that Bella would enjoy some other company in bed, but when he had broached the topic, he had been turned down. Since then, he had somewhat come to realize that Bella valued his company not only to defy and taunt his elder brother, but also because she genuinely enjoyed discussing the values of a pureblood lifestyle and Wizarding history with him.

All this, Bella knew about Rabastan, not because he had told her, but because she had somewhat picked up the ability to read people. It was easy, almost effortless, to guess the patterns of thought between her husband and his brother, they were so very predictable. She almost didn't have to try it at all.

Yuletide for Bella was a sore subject this year, as this would not only be her second Christmas since her marriage, but also the fourth year since she had seen Sirius during Christmas. Her lips, beautifully red, startling in her pale, ivory face, pursed unhappily as she remembered the recent rumours of what her former love was up to. Although she would love him forever, she could not help but consider him to be a little misguided. It was all Aunt Walburga's fault, she thought angrily sometimes, her cruelty and disrespect for her elder son had turned Sirius into a vehement blood-traitor. He had grown up believing that all the purebloods were insane, like his mother. That, and the company of that spoilt brat James Potter had all but done it for him, and now he was lost to her forever.

The last she had heard of Sirius, he had been seen with the so-called Order that was popping up as a defense against the Dark Lord. Although Bella was not yet a member of the movement – no woman was – she fully supported it, and intended to join it someday. It pained her that Sirius, her cousin and beloved, and more importantly, a pureblood from the House of Black, had turned his back on his own family so completely. Surely, he was misguided, but this decision of his could potentially ruin him forever – if she did not help him now.

She had, in the last year, become exceedingly bored with life. The hustle-bustle of Hogwarts, the constant pressure of classes and exams and homework, was missing in this cold, empty Manor, with its below par residents. The only one she considered fit for conversation was her brother-in-law, Rabastan, and even he visited sparingly. She often roamed its corridors, lined with so many beautiful paintings and works of art, bored out of her mind. She would have gone out, but there was no one to visit – Dromeda and Cissy were still in school, and Lara Black believed that young women should stay and wait on their families after marriage, not to mention the fact that she was mostly in Paris or Rome or Milan, staking out the new fashions with an appraising and experienced eye.

To say that Bella had few friends at Hogwarts would be an understatement, since she had no friends at all. The ice-princess of Slytherin had chosen to remain aloof, considering no one except her sisters to be worthy of her company. The sole exception to this – Sirius – had, of course, not been able to intermingle with her as openly as friends do. They had many stolen moments together, but in public, while not exactly enemies, they had been unable to have anything more than a passive attitude to each other.

Thus, after Hogwarts, Bella found herself quite bereft of company. She terrorized her mother-in-law too much to ever think of friendship with the older woman, and her true passions lay in the direction of her heritage anyway. If there was one subject on which Bella could speak for hours on end, it was not Charms or Potions or any other school subject (although she was exceptionally talented at all), but rather, the rich history and heritage of purebloods. The Cause that Lord Voldemort – as he preferred to be called – had chosen was dear to her heart, and she supported it wholeheartedly. She could not help but think of how lovely it would be to take part in it herself, to have her name and magic and blood be put to use in a crusade against the filth that cluttered their society, and longed to be a member – one of those exclusive Death Eaters. Rabastan, she knew, was already a member – she had seen the black skull tattoo, so very powerful – on his forearm, and her own husband, Rodolphus, was in line for it. But she herself, who was so much more infinitely talented to both of them, could not enter, simply because she was a woman.

She frowned at that thought. Surely, the Dark Lord was mistaken in that aspect. It was, after all, not his fault. He had, so far, only come across "ordinary" pureblood women – women like Pertha Parkinson, who flittered about with their beaux and fiancés and whatnot, discussing fashion and idly gossiping. Truly devoted women, like Bellatrix herself, were hard to find, and Bella believed that indeed she was the only one who could take on the burden of the duty that the Dark Lord would place on her shoulders.

And would place it tonight.

It was a few days before Yuletide, and the Averys were holding a lavish function at their house today. All the creamy layer of society would be present, and so would the Dark Lord, from what she had overheard as what was clearly meant to be a confidential conversation between Rabastan and Rodolphus. Apparently, Rodolphus was due to be sworn in as a member today, at Avery Manor. Originally, she had wondered as to the location, but then later realised that it was the perfect foil – not only would the members have a legitimate reason to be there, but also, no one would ever suspect them of being there. In case some blithering Ministry fool did walk in on them, he would be unarmed, unprepared, and easily overtaken and disposed off.

And it was this meeting in which she planned to meet the Dark Lord for the first time.

She knew that she would get no help with her objective. Rodolphus and Rabastan would both laugh at her, and she knew not who else to trust. Lucius, dependable as always, was already one of the members – he had been initiated the very week that school had let out – but she did not know whether she could depend on him. Although she (somewhat) trusted him, he had not been very pleased with her as of late, due to the… _circumstances_… surrounding her marriage, and might, after all, reveal her secret to her father, and then the repercussions would be severe. So she endeavoured to go it alone.

At this very moment, she was dressing for the ball. Bella's taste was impeccable, something she had inherited, and without fail highlighted her lovely features. Her dress, a deep wine red, made her ivory skin seem even more radiant than usual, and brought out her dark eyes and ruby lips. A string of expensive pearls hung around her neck, no other piece of jewellery except for her much-hated engagement and wedding rings adorning her body. She herself was a jewel – people's eyes were drawn to her no matter what.

She looked ravishing, a fact that was not lost on Rodolphus when he saw her for the first time. Smiling sardonically, he asked her "Whom are you planning to seduce tonight, my darling?"

The question was normal enough for him, but Bella, who had been thinking of how she would gain with the Dark Lord was momentarily distracted, and that was enough to flare her anger. She directed such a look of pure hatred at her husband that even he, who was used to her contempt, was surprised and disconcerted. He was now becoming used to her vitriolic nature, and indeed, thought that it was somewhat necessary that a woman of such beauty to balance out the perfection in her. Certainly, her nature was as far from perfect as possible.

Bella's temper, however short a leash it may be on, was everlastingly patient and passive with her sisters. When she met them for the first time since they had returned, inside the Avery's ballroom, she could not help but show them both signs of affection. They were, after all, her own flesh and blood, and the only ones who had loved her constantly and never tried to exploit her, which could not be said for her parents. They were also younger to her, and, as a result of Lara's childhood neglect, she felt responsible for them both, although they were scarcely one and two years younger to her respectively.

Before, she had constantly been in the presence of her sisters, whether at Hogwarts or at home. However, since last year, she had seen them exceedingly less. Although Dromeda had graduated this year, she had, at the request of her mother, spent the past six months with her in Paris. Although Cygnus would usually have objected at this fine waste of opportunity – he intended to get his daughters married off as soon as they passed out, to rid him of an unnecessary burden – in this case, he had relented, because the Rosiers, the family he was trying to wrangle a proposal out of, were spending the remaining half of the year in France, and he hoped that old Mrs. Rosier would bump into Lara from time to time.

This vacation did not seem to have done Dromeda any good, Bella noted as she took in her younger sister, immediately registering the vacant eyes and the rather hollow, lost expression. Dromeda looked almost as though she felt out-of-place, although this could not be the matter – she had been coming to functions such as these before she could even walk.

Narcissa noticed the worried frown that marred her sister's worried face as she took in Dromeda's vacant expression, and ventured a remark. "She's been like this ever since she got back," she whispered, leaning rather close to her elder sister. She was dressed in a fine blue silk gown, and her arms were decorated with numerous jewels. She looked like an angel, gracing the earth with her beauty. "And she's been writing a lot of letters, too. She started writing letters the instant she stepped in. And she won't tell me who she was writing too." A pout formed on her face. On almost everyone else, it would have served as a deterrent to her beauty – on Cissy, it only highlighted it.

Bella was curious about her younger sister's strange behavior, but before she could comment upon it, she was dragged into a perfunctory hug with her mother. Larissa Black had no special love for her children, except a vague sense that perhaps she should care for them more, but she had been brought up to keep with appearances. As a mother seeing her only married daughter after so very long, she had to appear concerned and rather elated at their reunion. She made a few casual enquiries of Bella, asking after Rodolphus' health and habits, and although the replies received were satisfactory, she could not help but be a little disconcerted. Perhaps, if she had been a more concerned and observant mother, she would have noticed that Bella was distracted, but Lara was barely an adequate mother, and long detachment had led her to practically forget that she had children. Even then, Bella was her least favourite – she was too dark, too Black, to be her favourite. Lara's family was traditionally fair, and as a result, she was most attached to Narcissa, if her vague sense of affection could be called attachment at all. Even for Andromeda, the Ugly Duckling in the family received a little – very little – amount of love, which was really only pity. Lara, so gloriously beautiful herself, recognized that Andromeda, while startlingly beautifully in comparison with anyone not a Black, was the most uncomely in her family.

But it was Bella, startlingly lovely Bella, who Lara felt virtually no affection for. Although Bella was beautiful, and intelligent too, she was just too strong for Lara's tastes. Lara had been brought up in a world where the women were subservient to men, and always walked a pace behind them, and had, however ineffectually, attempted to teach her daughters the same during fractured intervals. Narcissa, so alike her mother in spirit and looks, took to the idea easily enough, and always remembered to apply it. Andromeda was silently sullen, and although Lara could not discern whether she had followed her teaching, the girl always behaved in front of her. But it was Bella, strong, willful Bella, who abjectly rejected the theory, instead insisting that women were equal to men, and did not need to be subservient. Lara, shocked beyond measure at this argument, tried to groom the girl into proper thinking, and at this refusal, had forbidden her any form of entertainment or any visits for a month. She was not even allowed to receive visitors in her own home.

This punishment would have shocked a child like Narcissa, who thrived on company, and even discomfited Andromeda, who had a fair appetite for it. But for Bella, who cared nothing for school-friends, it was like water rolling off a duck's back. Her only fear, however, had been that when Sirius came to visit, she would be banned his company as well, but he managed to defy all rules and sneak in to meet her anyway

Larissa never knew what Bellatrix would do next – she was the most unpredictable, the most volatile of her daughters. Nobody knew what she was going to do next. She didn't have a fixed pattern, and she was reckless almost to the point of being suicidal. Lara would have worried, but she did not care about Bella enough to waste her time worrying about her.

The evening, to the Averys pleasure, went exactly as planned. The food was delicious, and was praised, somewhat grudgingly, by Walburga Black herself (although she was quick to insert a comment on how the Black family dinners were infinitely better). The company was acceptable, the music was played by the finest string quartet, and news was exciting enough to never cause a lack of topics to discuss. Everyone was pleased, and Cissy nearly clapped her hands in delight, refraining only because it was unseemly. Even Andromeda somewhat recovered her spirits, and eventually managed a rather wobbly smile.

Only Bellatrix was distracted throughout the evening, her lack of alertness caused not only by keeping an eye out for signs that the Death Eaters were convening, but also by her sister's obvious detachment. She was so concerned for Andromeda, in fact, that she followed her sister throughout the evening, trying to discern whether there was any obvious reason for Andromeda's unusual behavior. Dromeda, apart from her disinterest, seemed to be pleasant enough. She conversed quite enthusiastically with the elder Mrs. Yaxley, ensuring that the old lady did not feel at unease. But then again, this was just who Andromeda was – although the least attractive of the Black girls, she had the unique ability to make almost anybody and everybody like her. This was not to say that she was perfection in itself, and could, in fact, be shockingly selfish and childish if she wished, but she had a certain charm that appealed to prospective mother-in-laws. Cygnus, ever the observant man, had noticed this about her almost instantly, and, relieved, began to market her to elderly ladies with eligible sons at once.

Andromeda's behavior haunted Bella's mind. She had always been delicate, and introverted. She was the sister who worried Bella the most, for, despite being considerably selfish and single-minded, she did love her family to a certain extent. For her father, she had a sort of muted love. He had, after all, sold her off as if she was a pawn, but, on the other hand, he was a Black, and being a Black demanded respect. She despised him to a certain extent, but that disgust was mixed with admiration, and, unfortunately, an obligatory form of love.

Her mother inspired nothing but indifference from Bella. While earlier, her repeated neglection had aroused anger, disgust, and even fear, now that she was older and had spent such a long time without that protective covering of motherly love, she could not care less about whatever was going on in that quarter. A small part of her still burned with jealousy because of Lara's obvious preference for her youngest daughter, but that part had long been quashed with indifference, and repeated assurances from people of how much they adored her.

Her sisters were another matter altogether. Being burdened with the task of looking after them from a young age, she had developed a sort of quasi-motherly instinct towards them. Narcissa, beautiful, flighty, and irresponsible, incited disapproval, and a wish for her younger sister to be more mature, and responsible. Andromeda, however, was entirely a different case. She was almost painfully introverted, an anomaly for a Black, and had few friends. Her manners were muted, her behavior in accordance with what was expected of her. She was the most neglected member of her family, for her elder sister was the favourite of her father, the younger of her mother. Andromeda faded in the background, overshadowed by the brilliancy of her sisters, but no one knew whether or not she was content to be there. Her face was mostly impassive, to the extent of being unreadable, and her words always carried an element of half-truth, as if she was concealing her real thoughts in her mind. She was, perhaps, the most unpredictable of them all, and thus, no one could predict the ticking time bomb that grew inside her.

So distracted was Bella with thoughts of Andomeda's stranger-than-usual behavior, that she did not even notice her husband and brother-in-law slip out from the room. What she did manage to notice, however, was when they strode back in, anger evident on Rabastan's face, and Rodolphus looking sullen and in pain, rubbing his left forearm gingerly. The image, however, made no sense, until she put two and two together, and came up with the right answer.

Rage rose in her throat. She almost sprinted out of the grand room, and down the vast, empty corridors. But no matter how hard she tried, how much she searched, she could not find out where the meeting was being – or was – held.

Frustrated, she cast a Homenum Revelio spell. There was nothing. She felt despair, until she considered the fact that the Dark Lord may have had defensive spells against that particular charm, and, with a renewed enthusiasm, scoured the castle anew. But, despite her efforts, there was not a single person to be found in the Manor.

Finding herself on the balcony, she quickly darted out and took note of all the guests. Malfoy – Nott – Crabbe – yes, all of them were there. All the people whom she knew to be confirmed Death Eaters were eating and socializing with the rest of the crowd. This meant that the meeting was over.

She felt a scream building up in her throat, a scream of pure frustration, but, in a remarkable achievement for her, she controlled it – at least for the time being. It was to come out later, when she was undressing herself, and was to rebound across the marble corridors of Lestrange Manor.

She had been foiled once, and it was entirely her fault. She had not paid attention, had not been alert enough to achieve her goal, but it would not happen next time. Next time, she would track down the Dark Lord, and offer her mind, body, and allegiance in his service, for him to do with it what he pleased. She would show her abilities, convince his that she was, after all, much better than any of these fools, that they were all inferior to her, and she would win his favour, his Mark. She did not care for what any of those stupid, chauvinistic fools would say, and she was sure that he did not either, for he was their Lord and Master. She knew that she was better than any one of them, and she was determined to prove it. Next time, next time she would surely confront the Dark Lord, and achieve her heart's desire – become a member of the Death Eaters, the organization created solely for the purpose of purifying their society and reestablishing the name of the purebloods in ink that was made out of blood.


	7. Hubris

**Words cannot begin to express how very sorry I am to have left this story for so many days. My only excuse is that I forgot that it existed. It was only recently when I was scrolling through my profile when I saw the title, and when I was reminded of its existence.**

**Hopefully, my Muse will keep on making regular appearances from here on, and then this story shall be updated. I apologize if my language or writing style seem rather degraded - my language has somewhat slipped in the past year.**

**Once again, dearest readers, this is to you.**

**And of course, reviews are always much appreciated.**

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Chapter 7: Hubris

"Bella, darling."

The voice was deep, rich in timbre. The speaker was beckoning her, and although outwardly he seemed charming and complaisant enough, she could sense the warning in his voice. Pasting a simpering smile on her face, she moved to his side. "Father," she muttered, dark eyes glinting wickedly. Perhaps she would disobey him after all.

Cygnus regarded her warily. His eldest had never been the most obedient, and even now, he worried that she would take it into her head to be willful and destroy the wonderful opportunity that he was so painstakingly cultivating. He gently placed a hand on her arm. To anyone else, it would have seemed like a doting father's caress – she knew that he was warning her to behave, or the repercussions would be severe.

She directed a charming smile towards his companions. "Mrs. Rosier," the worlds rolled off her tongue smoothly. "How have you been? I'm pleased to see you back in England. I had heard that you were recovering in Naples."

"Well, my dear, what should I say? I just can't keep away from dear old England after all…"

Bella ignored the older woman, her eyes rapidly scanning the crowd for someone she knew. The old woman's doddering prattle interested her not at all, and it was only with effort that she could continue to smile towards her companion. Her father's hand on her arm was a constant reminder of how she was expected to act, and although she chafed at this use of authority, she could not fault him for it. He was, after all, her father, and with the laws of the day, he had full control over her until the day she married.

Bored, she twirled a strand of her hair around one bejeweled finger, wondering why Cygnus had seen it fit to tear her from the appetizer-table and subject her to the rambling tales of this old crone. The woman in front of her was a middle-aged matron, a rather staid and proper lady, who had recently been in ill health. Even now, the pall of disease hung heavy over her sweaty brow and thin face. Surely, Cygnus did not expect her to comfort and soothe this old lady? Andromeda would be much better suited to the purpose.

"Bella, did you know that Evan has been performing spectacularly at Quidditch recently?"

Ah. So that's why. The moment the words left her father's lips, she was suddenly acutely aware of the way her companion's eyes slid over her, probing her for a reaction. She had to play her cards right if she wanted to be safe.

She let loose a girlish giggle. "Oh yes, Evan always was so very good at Quidditch – Lucius says that he is the very best player on the team. I had wished to congratulate him for the spectacular victory over Hufflepuff the other day, but…" she lowered her eyes modestly.

Her reaction is satisfactory: she can feel her father's approving pressure on her arm. The wizened old lady in front of her smiles, evidently mollified by her response. "Indeed, his father is also quite pleased with his performance. And of course, he _is _the best." Her chest swelled with maternal pride. "The other boys on the team are so… ordinary. Only Evan truly shines out. And goodness knows, does he work for it! Every moment of the day spent on a broom." She sighed affectionately, eyes lighting up at the memory of her son. "But then of course, that is what genius does to you, of course."

Bella smiles, swallowing the bile and disgust rising in her throat. If Evan Rosier was a genius at _anything_, she would eat her favourite purple hat. The blond, heavy-armed Chaser was reasonably talented at the tricky sport of Quidditch, but his innate insipidity made him more stupid than anything else. Instead of voicing her rather vitriolic opinion of him, she instead smiled winningly and said "I do believe that Slytherin will win the Cup this year. And it will be all because of him, of course."

Only those familiar with her could sense the sarcasm flowing so close to the surface. Cygnus' grip on her arm tightened, even as his smile did. Mrs. Rosier, however, could see nothing wrong with the statement, blind with love as she was. "Of course, of course," she nodded sagely. "He _has _worked so hard for it, my poor dear. You know, Bellatrix," she broke off, eyeing the beautiful young girl knowingly. "Perhaps Evan could come and visit you this summer. He would surely appreciate your company." She smiled at Cygnus, a private smile shared by two parents who are happily indulging in matchmaking.

Bella felt bile slipping into her mouth once more, and quickly controlled her reaction to the thought of having to spend time with Evan Rosier. "That would be lovely, Mrs. Rosier," she said demurely. "I'm sure we shall be able to have very…_ engaging _conversation."

Her emphasis on the word caused Cygnus to start grinding his teeth, but, as usual, the significance flew right above Bromilda Rosier's head. Instead, she laughed with a strange and high nervousness. "Oh, I'm sure you will," she nodded, reaching out with a hand to stroke Bella's cheek. The latter held still to avoid reflexively stepping back, and allowed the diseased, sweaty hand to stroke her rigid face. "Such a beautiful child, Cygnus… yes, I'm sure you and Evan shall have very engaging _conversations_." She winked slyly at the girl, then wandered off, apparently in search for other matrons of society.

The moment she was gone, Bella tore her arm from Cygnus' grip. "Are you done matching me up, or am I to continue accompanying you like a passive mule, on display for all the greedy old women in here?"

Cygnus smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. His stony glance landed on his eldest. "Language, daughter mine," he breathed. "Remember, I am your father, and you _shall _obey me. Otherwise, the rod will illustrate the truth." He stared at her until she dropped her eyes, intimidated by his hard glare.

Her voice was very small. "Of course, father." She was careful to keep it neutral to prevent her rage from spilling out and poisoning her words. His punishments were severe, and if she was not careful, she would be at the wrong end of his wand once again.

He smiled once again, eyes trailing over the venue in pursuit of one or the other eligible opportunity. "Wander around if you must, but make sure to stay within my eyesight. If I call you, you must come." He let go of her, and immediately, she curtseyed, and then slipped into the mass of bodies within the room.

It was spring, the heavy scent of apple blossoms permeating the air. The sky was clear and the breeze was brisk, and slightly cool. The April sun shone out somewhat weakly, dispensing just enough sunlight to warm the world enough for a jaunt outside. The trees rustled invitingly in the distance, the cool mist amidst them refusing to dissipate, even in the middle of the day. The grass was slightly wet with soft dew, and her satin sandals were stained with their delicate green juice. The hem of her dress was wet with the slippery moisture moisture, and her face flushed from the brisk wind blowing across the wide lawn. In contrast to most other women there, Bella did not wear a hat, instead allowing her wild hair to have free reign, the untidy strands blowing this way and that. Amidst a sea of pastels, she wore a daring emerald gown, cut modestly, but designed in such a way that it would provoke the imagination of the viewer, no matter how much it covered. She stood out as a pearl would among the endless grains of sand on a beach, her natural beauty and easy grace attracting all human eyes.

It was spring, and the Malfoys had seen fit to give a garden party, seizing the opportunity to show off their magnificent flower beds and carefully-tended garden. She could see Abraxas standing in the middle of the room, laughing loudly and clutching a half-empty wineglass in one hand with almost frantic desperation. He was already inebriated, and had begun to let go, as was shown with his overt familiarity with his companions, all of whom were young girls who could not yet be out of Hogwarts. The Malfoy patriarch's fondness for young girls was not unknown, and although he usually limited his escapades to the dark corners of Knockturn Alley or the privacy of a brothel room, it seemed that intoxication brought out the worst in him.

She smiled disdainfully. At least Cygnus wasn't like that. Nobody could ever truthfully proclaim that the old man was faithful to his flighty wife, but at least, he reserved his passions for women who were slightly more… developed.

She tore her eyes away from the disgraceful sight, sure that sooner or later, a _slip _would happen, and that tonight Malfoy Manor would be alight with the shouts of Mrs. Malfoy expressing her displeasure with her husband. It was a common-enough sight, and one that roused whispers whenever it happened, despite the same having occurred numerous times earlier.

She passed through the crowd, ignoring the young men and women who reached out for her and called her name. All of them wanted the glory of being associated with Bellatrix Black, even if just for a few moments. Not only was she a Black, the closest name to royalty, but she was _Bellatrix,_ the ice princess, sculpted from marble and as cold as the stone during the dead of winter. She was unreachable, unattainable. To hold her attention for a few minutes was to be deemed worthy.

She pointedly ignored them all, only breaking her reserve once to glare at a young girl who had dared to actually grasp her forearm. The unwitting offender shrunk away, burning under Bella's cold glare, full of black fire and venom. Tolerant as she was, the idea of her person being grasped was something that did not appeal to the eldest Black child. Reserve was something that came naturally to her, and she coldly disassociated with everything that she deemed unworthy. To be touched against her will, by someone who was not on the same social standing as her, or who did not elicit the same respect, either by the virtue or family or by personal character, was intolerable – she would not accept it.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned, fully intending to convey her displeasure to the offender, through the use of words if wands were disallowed. She swallowed her ire, however, when she saw who had taken the liberty.

"Lucius," she greeted, with a tilted nod. "Lovely party." Her eyes flickered sardonically to where his father stood, one of the old man's hands now perched perilously low on the backside of one of the more attractive acolytes who surrounded him.

His eyes gazed at her heavily, palest grey. "I see your humour is as charming as ever, Bella," he drawled, his tone rich with tolerant amusement.

She smirked, flushed with pleasure. Despite what she would profess, she was glad to see Lucius. He was one of the few people whose company she could tolerate, nay, even enjoy. She fell naturally into step beside him. "I have just disengaged myself from old Mrs. Rosier, who was very kindly telling me of how very accomplished her son was at Quidditch." Her eyes glittered with malice.

Lucius snorted, his elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of a clear wineglass, filled to the brim with the finest Elvish wine. "Mrs. Rosier is disposed to think rather too well of her son. He clings to the position just barely. This year, if another one proves himself worthy, then he will surely lose the status of being on the team."

She twisted one of the many rings that adorned her fingers. "He wants to see me, you know. Rosier. He wants to call on me. That's what he sent mummy dearest for. To ask me in his stead." She laughed carelessly, filling the air with the music of her laughter.

Lucius snorted delicately, surveying the crowd that filled his lawn with an imperiousness that could only be worn by those of their stature. "He always was a coward." She knew that his language would have been much stronger if she had not been around, and although she chafed at this discriminatory treatment of her, she could not help but admire his inborn chivalry. It showed _breeding, _something that not many of those present on the beautiful lawns today could profess to possessing.

She let out a loose laugh. "Well, let him join the list, who cares? He'll be in line with all of the others – with Mulciber and Crabbe and Wilkes and Nott. Just another one, waiting his chance to come and suck up to Cygnus, waiting to get his hands on the Black fortune." Her words are laden with bitterness, but she is so careful that none who were not close to her would be able to scent the emotion lain heavily in those words.

Lucius is perceptive. He turns to her with a half-glance, and when he speaks, his tone is full of emotion, and one which she has become increasingly used to hearing. "Bella…" She can hear the plea in his voice.

She cuts him short before he has the chance to argue his case once again, sweeping the grounds with her eyes. "Have you seen my cousin?" she changes the topic abruptly.

She can hear him sigh, and she is grateful when he chooses to respect her wishes and follow her lead. "I do believe that Regulus was slinking around somewhere near the Wilkes. No doubt, he is trying his utmost to make an impression." Only she can hear the subtle humour in his voice. Lucius makes no secret of his dislike for her male cousins, but is well-bred enough to express it with passive hostility rather than with outright animosity. She is charmed by his thoughtfulness, charmed how very patrician he is, by how he is the very epitome of what she should want. Rich, successful, the heir, and very, very handsome, Lucius Malfoy was perhaps the most eligible bachelor in magical Britain at this moment. She is not unaware of the fact that everyone's eyes are upon them right now, that they are watching and waiting to see what will happen, and neither is she unaware of the fact that they make a striking couple, he so tall and fair, she in possession of such dark beauty.

If only it was enough. Lucius may have been perfection itself, but he appeared within the horizon too late. Her heart is already in possession of another. "I meant Sirius," she clarified.

Lucius glanced at her out of the corner of his pale eyes, and once again, she is reminded of how very perceptive he could be, how he could sense things where there was almost nothing to be found. She is discomfited, and squirms under his searching gaze, flushed with slow fear. If he had discerned the truth…

To his credit, he brings up none of what he suspects. That might have been because what appeared to be the truth was indeed so outlandish that even he could not fully bring himself to accept it. Lucius, for all his virtues, is too narrow-minded, too focused on what is proper and right and acceptable, to truly understand willful, carefree Bella, who cares so little for society and its norms.

"We have not crossed paths as of yet," he replies smoothly, "A fact which I have yet to thank the gods for. It has not escaped my mind that it is only for the best."

A laugh escapes her at the sound of his arrogant humour. Lucius is this open only around those whom he trusts, and she feels, for a moment, privileged at being granted this honour. Then she remembers exactly why he treats her with such closeness, and her eyes shadow over with fatigue and tiredness. She carelessly disengages her arm from his, untangling the complex knot which they had formed with easy grace.

"I'll be off, then. I'm sure you have other guests to entertain," she reminds him of his duties as host even as she slips away, effortlessly insinuating herself into another party of young adults who had gathered nearby in order to avoid his searching, all-seeing gaze. She cannot shake off the memory of those pale eyes, which saw so much and revealed so little.

She spies her sister behind the wide coloumns that adorn the entrance to Malfoy Manor, and waves to her, a small frown marring her face when she notices who Narcissa is accompanied by. She never has had a good opinion of Avery, although he has always appeared relatively blameless. The number of times that he has been implicated in some or the other scandal are too numerous to be written off as mere coincidence, and she mentally reminds herself to keep an eye on her younger sister. She does not want her flesh and blood to be remembered as just another notch on someone's bedpost.

Her dark eyes, fringed with those heavy eyelashes, rove through the crowd until she finds her quarry. Easily striding through the crowd – it parts to let the esteemable Bellatrix Black through – she comes to stand behind him. "Regulus," his name drips as easily as honey from her painted lips.

He turns, flushed with the effort of attempting to sound wise enough to fit in with this gaggle of learned and experienced men. Regulus always did like to reach beyond where he could fit, his arms constantly grasping for an honour that he could not be granted. His eyes widen as he sees his beautiful and charming cousin standing beside him. It is not always that Bella deigns to grant him the privilege of her company, and almost never without him pressing for it. For her to seek him of her own accord seems to be nothing short of a miracle. "Bellatrix," he greets her, wide-eyed with surprise.

She is not unaware of his thought process, and her lip curls as she sees the wheels turn in his head, contemplating how he can use her presence to better manipulate his situation as of this moment. Regulus may have been her cousin, but she barely tolerates him, granting him with none of the love or the patience which she has for her sisters. He seems to her a pale imitation of his brother. It is not lost on her that Sirius would easily have been able to insinuate himself with the crowd into which Regulus is trying so hard to break, and with almost none of the effort. Sirius simply possessed the necessary aura. "Where is your brother?" Her tone is clipped, dismissive. She would waste no pleasantries on him.

He blinks, as though the question was unexpected. Certainly, that could not have been the case. Even their rather negligent parents have not failed to notice Bella's closeness to her unruly cousin, and none have ceased to be surprised by it. Although Bella is willful, she contains none of Sirius' forceful disdain, none of his almost aggressive rejection of the society into which they were both born.

"Brother has seen it fit to avoid today's gathering," Regulus sounds contemptuous. "Completely disregarding by how much it must hurt mother to appear here today without her firstborn… But then again, he was never very concerned about other's feelings, was he? He snuck out of home this morning, something about visiting a certain Lupin. It would almost have been better if he had been to see Potter, because even Potter is here."

That is true, she dimly realizes. She can see the Potter boy lounging around on the steps, surrounded by his own gaggle of giggling girls. She even sees the Longbottoms wandering around, Frank with a forced smile on his face. Only Sirius, it seems, has decided to skip the visit.

She feels disappointment land on her then, crushing with its weight. He had _known _that she would be here today – he had _known _that she would wait for him, that she would search for his company. He had known, and still, he had chosen to abandon her and go off gadding with another one of those friends of his who were unworthy of even being invited to the Malfoy bash. She felt anger rise in her heart, the familiar rush of it echoing in her ears.

She had not had a free moment with him in months. Ever since they had made up since that fateful conversation when he had broken her wrist – and oh, what sweet reconciliation that had been! – he had been out of touch. For winter break, he had swept off to France with his father in a rare display of filial obedience, leaving her to suffer through _her _father's scheming machinations on her own. It was only through the skin of her teeth that she had managed to wriggle out of an engagement to Thomas Nott, and that was only by flirting so brazenly that many other prospective suitors had seen it fit to send Cygnus Black a missive stating that they were _very _interested in his eldest daughter.

When they had returned to school, he had all but ignored her, bustling around with his rag-tag friends. He had even chosen to skip their secret meetings in Hogwarts' many empty rooms, and she had waited long for him to make an appearance, each time slinking to bed in the middle of the night with a heart weighed down by stone. He had avoided her during the day, even refrained from insulting her group of acquaintances – anything to avoid having to interact with her.

She had chalked it up to unbelievable reasons, first citing his need to concentrate on Quidditch, and then on his need to study in order to improve his grades. As he had continued to ignore her, she had found herself wildly grasping at the slenderest of possibilities, her mind clutching at straws. None of them seemed probable, or even possible. Sirius spent just as much time as he had before making merry, but this time, he did not spare even a little time for Bella.

And now – when they had finally been on break, free from the harsh constraints of school and of house loyalties – when they were in the same country; this would have been the first party of the season, the first time she could have seen him, and he had chosen to _skip it._

She felt rage well up within her heart, accompanied by not a little panic. It was due to her realization of a single pressing fact which she had willfully chosen to ignore for so many months, the realization of one of her single greatest fears: she had become irrelevant.

Irrelevant to the man to whom she had sworn to dedicate her life to! Irrelevant to the one for whom she had jumped through so many loopholes, suffered such harsh punishment, had even flirted with the risk of permanent disgrace and fall in the societal structure for. He had chosen, instead, to ignore her, to disgrace her, to treat her as though she was nothing more than a wallflower, as though she _wasn't worth his attention. _

She felt her back stiffen with bruised pride, lips twisting in a rather unbecoming sneer. She was Bellatrix Black. She was no one's wallflower. She was always, _always _the star of the room, a cynosure, the one who could demand the most attention, and no one, not even Sirius Black, could change that.

She lifted her head haughtily, heavily lids glancing at Regulus with such disdain that he squirmed beneath the weight of her dismissive gaze. Lifting her hand slightly in farewell – he was worth nothing more, this cousin of hers, and neither was his brother, she thought viciously – she made her way through the crowd, pushing aside those who stood in her way. The roar of anguished pride screamed through her ears, and dimly, she was aware of the fact that her caprice would seem rather unseemly, but she found that she did not care. When had she cared for the thoughts of these insignificant worms, anyway? She was a Black, and being a Black was all that you could wish for in this world.

She found the person she sought, and let her fingers curl around his upper arm possessively, forcibly disengaging himself from his current partner. He turned to her, a look of stiffened surprise dawning across his pale face, a blond eyebrow arched high at her unexpected familiarity. Rarely did allow anyone such discretions.

"Bella," he greeted her, surprise colouring his rich voice. She let it wash over her, comforted by the utter attention that she felt in those words, scornfully regarding the girl who stood fuming behind him. Pertha Parkinson could never hold a candle to Bellatrix Black, could never compare to her grace and liveliness.

She tore her eyes from the livid girl, smirking as she looked up into her companion's face. "Lucius," she drawled, voice heavy and smooth, thick as liquid honey. She could see his eyes widen, his breath quicken, at the tone she used, and she reveled in the petty knowledge that she could have this effect on a man such as him. "We have not danced yet," she reminded him, eyes sparkling wickedly, charmingly, disastrously.

He wrapped an arm around her slender waist, and in his haste, could only offer the most perfunctory graces to Pertha, preoccupied as he was with Bellatrix. When the latter wanted, she could have the world at her feet. Bellatrix was not, and could never be, insignificant.

She dimly recognized that her actions could be misconstrued, and that she would be the subject of much scuttlebutt, but then she realized that she did not care. Her pride had been wounded, her insouciant demeanor threatened. She pathetically thought – and truly believed – that she had been treated rather iniquitously, and her intransigent personality, that splendid and powerful force of nature, asserted itself with the trademark Black hauteur. She would not let anyone upstage her. She would _make _Sirius see that she was not irrelevant, that she was still the star of all upper Magical society – and who better to do it with than handsome Lucius Malfoy, who, on top of being utterly irresistible, was also Sirius' sworn rival?

She smiled charmingly and allowed herself to be led out on the dance floor.


End file.
